


Dream About the Days to Come

by frapandfurious



Category: Crash Pad (2017), Logan Lucky (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Additional Tags to Be Added, Awkwardness, Board Games, Bonding, But Finally A Breakthrough!, Comfort, Crying, Drinking, Feelings, First Kiss, First Meetings, Goodbyes, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Boner???, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mention of Explosions/Violence, Misunderstandings, Mutual Attraction, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Overuse of John Denver References, Partial Nudity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pure West Virginia Beef okay, Reunions, Sharing a Bed, That one will make sense i promise, date that's not a date, kylux adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frapandfurious/pseuds/frapandfurious
Summary: Jimmy insisted he needed, deserved, a vacation, and Mellie backed him up wholeheartedly. Even Joe Bang, overhearing the whole conversation from three bar stools away, had thrown in, “why don’t you get out from behind this bar and live a little?”That was how Clyde found himself on a sunny Monday in May, standing outside of a coffee shop in Seattle, deliberating on whether he should go inside and try some of this coffee everyone went on about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start by saying I at least partly blame this on [Eastmava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastmava/pseuds/Eastmava), who I was visiting when we watched Crash Pad for the first time and who kept sending me cute headcanons. <_<
> 
> So this started as the small idea of "what if they met in Seattle instead of West Virginia" and it was supposed to be a one shot and. Here we are.
> 
> I've never written an "adjacent" ship before but I've dabbled in reading them and I thought it would be fun to try! And it was! The characterization was very different than anyone I've written before and that was a fun challenge. :)
> 
> I don't have a regular update schedule planned BUT the whole fic is done it's just a matter of me getting around to editing it, so it shouldn't be very far between chapters.
> 
> Title from [Leaving On a Jet Plane](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLBKOcUbHR0) by John Denver (who yes, also sings Country Roads, how about that~)
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you enjoy. <3

_Now the time has come to leave you_   
_One more time_   
_Let me kiss you_   
_Then close your eyes_   
_I'll be on my way_

  
_Dream about the days to come_   
_When I won't have to leave alone_   
_About the times, I won't have to say_

 

_Oh, kiss me and smile for me_   
_Tell me that you'll wait for me_   
_Hold me like you'll never let me go_

  
_'Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane_   
_Don't know when I'll be back again_   
_Oh babe, I hate to go_

 

 

***

 

 

“Seattle?” Clyde hadn’t heard Jimmy sound so incredulous since Fish Bang got himself a girlfriend.

 

“What’s wrong with Seattle?” Mellie countered, not looking up from where she sat cross-legged on the sofa painting her nails. Clyde sat next to her, leaning forward over the coffee table, and Jimmy sat on the floor across from them, holding open a wrinkled map he pulled out from the glove compartment of his truck.

 

“Nothin’, I guess. Just… _Seattle?_ ”

 

“Might I remind you that it was _you_ who said I needed a vacation,” Clyde chimed in.

 

“Yeah, but the whole ‘pick a spot on the map and go’ was Mellie’s idea.”

 

“And it was a good idea,” Mellie said with a defiant pop of her chewing gum. The cinnamon scent of it was making Clyde’s nose twitch. “A little spontaneity never hurt nobody.”

 

“Don’t people usually go on vacation places like, I don’t know, Hawaii or Florida?”

 

“I don’t like the beach,” Clyde muttered, feeling as though this whole thing was getting away from him.

 

Maybe his brother and sister were right. They did know him best, after all. Ever since the heist a year ago he’d kept working hard, maybe harder than before, to keep up the illusion that he was a normal bartender getting by on tips.

 

Clyde didn’t mind; he liked what he did and he was proud of his bar. He even started thinking maybe, just maybe, he and his siblings had escaped the Logan family curse and he could afford to be a little more adventurous. But for him that meant trying out a new shampoo or whatever _quinoa_ was.

 

Not…this. Not hopping on a plane by himself and going to some city he barely knew a thing about.

 

But Jimmy had taken Sadie to an amusement park for a weekend and Mellie and her friends had gone to Nashville, and now it was apparently his turn. Jimmy insisted he needed, _deserved_ , a vacation, and Mellie backed him up wholeheartedly. Even Joe Bang, overhearing the whole conversation from three bar stools away, had thrown in, “why don’t you get out from behind this bar and live a little?”

 

So here he was, his pointer finger still pressed to the spot on the map where he’d stabbed it. Seattle, Washington. All the way on the other side of the country.

 

“If you don’t like it you can try again,” Mellie assured him when she looked up and caught his furrowed brow and downturned mouth. “You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”

 

“No,” Clyde said after a moment. “I suppose Seattle’s as good as anywhere else. What am I gonna do when I get there, though?”

 

“Whatever you want,” Jimmy said, shrugging and folding the map back up. “It’s a vacation.”

 

That was how Clyde found himself on a sunny Monday in May, standing outside of a coffee shop in Seattle, deliberating on whether he should go inside and try some of this coffee everyone went on about or continue his aimless stroll through the city.

 

After several minutes of internal debate, he reasoned that he didn’t have to stay in the coffee shop, he could take the drink _with_ him on the aimless stroll, and so he took a deep breath and stepped inside.

 

To his relief, it was late enough in the day that the morning rush of customers grabbing coffee on their way to work or class had passed, leaving it blessedly uncrowded. Clyde didn’t like crowds; they made him feel even more big and cumbersome than usual and he worried about getting his new prosthetic caught on someone’s purse strap or something. But there were only a few people seated around the room and one person at the counter.

 

He got in line just as the man was ordering.

 

“The usual, please,” he said cheerfully. The barista smiled and nodded, ducked away for a moment and then returned with a pink bottle in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

 

“One pink scone, one strawberry milk,” she said, “that’ll be $4.53.”

 

The man handed her a five dollar bill and took the bottle and the pastry while he awaited his change. Clyde watched with mild curiosity. Even from behind he could tell this man was…interesting. He was nearly as tall as Clyde but lean in a way Clyde envied. His hair was windblown and bright as a shiny new penny. He wore a blue striped long-sleeved shirt tucked into gray shorts and on his feet were socks with sandals. Clyde wondered if this was how everyone in Seattle dressed, but a quick scan of the room told him otherwise.

 

Preoccupied with looking at other customers, he didn’t notice the man take his change and turn around. He was startled by something bumping into his chest, followed by a surprised yelp and the sound of something hitting the ground. The something stumbled back just as quickly and as Clyde looked forward again he saw it was the man in front of him, now barely a foot away and blinking at him owlishly.

 

“Sorry! You were so quiet, didn’t see you there.” he said. He had an accent that Clyde couldn’t quite place and didn’t bother trying because he was too focused on the man’s face, the greenish eyes and a gentle mouth quirked up in a little half-smile.

 

Before Clyde could react the man was already headed to the door. Only then did he remember something had dropped; he looked down to see the beige bag containing the man’s scone.

 

“Wait!” Clyde said, bending down to scoop the bag up. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he followed the man to the door. “Wait,” he said again, “you forgot – “

 

The man turned just as Clyde was holding the bag out with his prosthetic hand and immediately flinched. Clyde felt his stomach drop unpleasantly. It had been a while since someone had such a strong reaction to his arm. Sure, he still got the occasional stare or pitying look but for the most part people back home knew him and were used to it.

 

But the man wasn’t looking at his arm, or at him, or at anything. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was turned into an exaggerated frown and one arm, the one not holding the strawberry milk, was raised as if shielding himself.

 

“I said I’m sorry! I – oh, hell, not again, wasn’t once enough for the year, you’re even bigger than the last guy…”

 

Clyde blinked and then blinked some more and then finally realized that the way was holding out his arm looked a bit threatening, more than a bit, and he was quick to lower it and turn his hand palm-up, revealing the rumpled bag.

 

“You forgot your…whatever this is,” Clyde said carefully. He felt like he was approaching some sort of scared animal, a bird that might take flight if he made one wrong step.

 

The man slowly lowered his arm, his face relaxing and eyes opening as he grasped that he wasn’t, in fact, being pummeled by the person he’d bumped into in line at a coffee shop. Clyde absently wondered if that was something that happened to this man often.

 

“It’s a scone,” the man explained cautiously as he took the bag. He looked a bit guilty now, his mouth and nose twitching. It reminded Clyde of the rabbits in his back yard. “Thank you.”

 

“’s no problem,” Clyde said, staring at the man’s eyes again. The door opened, jingling the little bell above it, and it snapped him out of his daze. He remembered that he was here to order something, not to stare at locals. Clyde assumed he was a local, anyway, if he had a usual order here.

 

Clyde cleared his throat and nodded sharply and pulled his gaze away from the man, turning back to the counter to look at the menu.

 

And look...and keep looking... He never knew there were so many kinds of coffees and teas and iced teas and…and scones, and other baked things that went with coffees and teas. The one and only coffee place back home had regular, decaf, sweet tea and lemonade and no one seemed inclined to ask for anything more.

 

But this menu was made up of four chalkboards, stuffed top to bottom with choices written in bright colors. He had never heard of most of it, and the lady at the counter was smiling at him waiting for him to say something, and would he seem odd if he just asked for a _normal coffee please_ , and…

 

“Ah, indecisive I see,” chimed a voice beside him and Clyde startled. He looked over to see that same man again, munching on something pink and triangular that must have been the scone. There was a crumb at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Not exactly,” Clyde said, “I’ve just never heard of half of this stuff.”

 

The man looked up at him, mouth curving up a little. “You’re not from here, are you?”

 

Clyde wanted to say he didn’t sound like he was from here either but he decided that might come across as impolite and he didn’t want to scare the man off. He was a regular here, maybe he could help him out.

 

He shook his head. “I’m from Boone County, West Virginia,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

The man tilted his head, thinking. “I’m terrible at geography but I know enough to know that’s all the way across the country. You came all this way just to try the coffee?” His mouth was twitching up and down like he was trying not to laugh at his own joke.

 

Clyde offered a small smile in return. “Not exactly. But since I’m here I thought I’d try some. ‘cept I don’t know what to get.”

 

“Well,” the man said, looking back up at the menu. “What do you like?”

 

“…coffee.”

 

“A straight-shooting, no frills kind of guy. Hmm. Alright. That one.” He pointed at part of the menu that read _Today’s Brews_. “The Wake Up Blend. That should be your fairly standard cup. Probably too bitter for my taste but maybe you’ll like it.”

 

“Thank you,” Clyde said sincerely. He walked up to the counter, ordered his drink, paid and turned, looking around for where they kept the cream and sugar. To his surprise, the red-haired man was still standing there, scone long gone, watching him expectantly.

 

Clyde stepped out of the way of the next customer, shooting the man a curious glance.

 

“Come on, then.” The man walked past him, motioning with one hand, and Clyde followed obediently to a counter against the wall. Not only did it have cream and sugar, but cinnamon and honey and cocoa powder and a couple other things he couldn’t identify.

 

“Thank you,” Clyde said again as he put a little cream in his coffee to cool it down, and nothing else. When he glanced over his shoulder, the man was _still_ there, that same look on his face like he was waiting for something. Clyde didn’t mind, he just didn’t know what he was supposed to _do._

 

“Go on,” the man said, nodding to the coffee, “try it! I want to see if I was right.”

 

Ah. Alright, then.

 

Clyde took a big sip, trying not to visibly flinch as it burned his tongue a little. He lowered the cup with a firm nod. “Yeeup. That’s a cup of coffee alright.”

 

The man beamed. It lit up his whole face. “That’s good, right? You like it?”

 

Clyde liked it well enough, he just couldn’t taste much difference from the stuff at the diners back home. But he didn’t want to disappoint this guy when he’d helped him, and when he seemed so excited, and so, “yes I do. Thank you again for your help.”

 

The man bounced a little on his feet, still grinning. “It’s my pleasure! I work in sales, you see. Pinpointing what resonates with people is my calling. The more I look at you the more I can tell: that right there is a dark roast with a splash of milk kind of a guy.”

 

Clyde wasn’t entirely sure what that meant but the way the man said it made it sound like a compliment, and so he smiled again.

 

“Well I appreciate the help. Any recommendations for things to see around here?” It occurred to him then that he might be pushing his luck.

 

“I was hoping you might ask that!” The man looked around. “Why don’t we sit down over there?” As he spoke he was already heading toward a table by the window and again, Clyde followed.

 

“Don’t you have anywhere to be? Work or somethin’?”

 

“It’s your lucky day,” the man said as he dropped into a seat and began opening his bottle of strawberry milk. “It’s my day off. Nothing to do that can’t wait. I’m Stensland, by the way!” He offered his hand.

 

Clyde had never met someone with that name. He wondered if it was his first name or last name but, like the man’s accent, he wasn’t sure it would be polite to ask when they’d known each other such a short time.

 

“Clyde. Clyde Logan.” He took the other seat and shook his new acquaintance’s hand.

 

It was then that he realized, other than when he thought he was going to be punched by it, Stensland hadn’t given his left arm an odd or pitying look even once.

 

*

 

They ended up talking for over an hour. It started with Stensland going on about the best and worst parks, the best and worst frozen yogurt places, the best and worst times of day to go up in the Space Needle if that was something Clyde was interested in…

 

It quickly turned into taking turns at being appalled at things the other had and hadn’t tried.

 

“You’ve never seen 10 Things I Hate About You?”

 

“ _You’ve_ never played cornhole?”

 

“You’ve never been to a musical?”

 

“You’ve never been fishing?”

 

Clyde learned that Stensland was from Ireland, that he’d moved here after his mother died, and that he worked at a furniture store. In turn, he told Stensland he had a brother and sister and a niece, that he’d been in the military, and that he was a bartender. That last bit seemed to momentarily throw Stensland off but he bounced back quickly, recounting a tale of a bartender he’d met in college.

 

For the first time since he arrived early that morning, Clyde felt at ease. Usually that wasn’t the case with new people, but something about Stensland’s openness and eagerness was infectious. It helped that Stensland clearly enjoyed talking, while Clyde tended to prefer listening, a quality that came in handy when bartending just as it did now.

 

Stensland’s current topic, the year’s strange weather so far, was interrupted by a noise from his pocket. He stopped mid-sentence to pull out his phone.

 

“Past noon already? I’d better get going, those errands aren’t going to do themselves…”

 

Then he looked up at Clyde. If Clyde didn’t know any better, he’d think he seemed disappointed. Clyde couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed himself. With their impromptu meeting over, he’d have to go find something to do with himself. Oh well. At least now he had some ideas.

 

“You’ve been a lot of help,” he said to Stensland as they stood and headed for the door. Clyde politely held the door for him and he could have sworn the other man’s cheeks flushed.

 

“Like I said, no trouble at all. I feel a bit like a local ambassador. Maybe if furniture sales doesn’t work out I could go into tourism…”

 

As he talked, it crossed Clyde’s mind that he could ask for the man’s number, in case…what? In case he got lost, or needed some more recommendations? No, that would seem creepy, probably, he shouldn’t…

 

“Tell you what,” Stensland interrupted his train of thought. “It’s up to you, this being your vacation and all, but tonight I’m having some friends over for a game night. You’re welcome to drop by if you don’t have plans.”

 

Clyde didn’t have plans. He didn’t have a single plan past getting off the plane.

 

“That sounds fun,” he said before he could overthink it.

 

“Excellent! Here’s my address.” Stensland darted to the counter and snatched a pen from a cup beside the register. He scribbled on a napkin and handed it to Clyde. Not only his address, but his number too.

 

“Seven o’clock, or whenever you can make it. I’ve got snacks and everything, so just bring yourself!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best-laid plans of mice and Stensland often go awry.
> 
> (Sometimes that's a good thing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one small note. In spite of A Thing that clearly happens in this chapter, there won't be any smut in this story (unless when it's done anyone reading gets inspired to write some in continuation, in which case by all means please smut-up my vanilla life). That'll be clear as the tags are added but I wanted to mention it because I know for some that's a big draw of fic and I don't want anyone to be disappointed. ^^; I always worry that people will go into my fics expecting one thing and find another so I try to be upfront. If you're looking for budding relationship, awkwardness, bonding, mutual pining, fluff, happy ending, etc, you're in the right place!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy chapter 2!

And _that_ was how Clyde found himself sitting awkwardly on a beat-up couch not unlike his own, in a tiny apartment in Seattle, watching Stensland flutter about putting out bowls of chips and dip and some kind of indistinguishable homemade dessert.

 

“What do you drink?” Stensland called from the kitchenette, head poked into the fridge door. “I’ve got…hard cider, ginger ale and chamomile tea. And water, of course.”

 

Clyde found himself smiling a little in spite of himself. There was just something about this guy that made him smile.

 

“Anything’s fine,” he answered from the couch. He shifted his legs a little, trying to keep himself crammed onto a single couch cushion so when the others arrived they had room.

 

Stensland appeared a moment later and set a bottle of the cider _and_ a can of ginger ale in front of him. He was gone again just as quickly, searching for something on one of his shelves, like a hummingbird darting from flower to flower.

 

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Stensland had everything set up by then but couldn’t seem to stay still. He checked the clock, checked his phone, checked out the peephole on the door.

 

By seven-thirty it became clear something was amiss. A moment later, his phone buzzed with a message. Stensland checked it eagerly, only for his face to fall.

 

“So,” he said, “it seems that Linda isn’t feeling well, and Lyle doesn’t want to leave her alone, and, well, the others who were coming were friends of Linda’s so it’d make no sense for them to come now…” he trailed off, putting the phone away and looking around the room.

 

Clyde didn’t know who Linda or Lyle were, but he did know that look, the disappointment of expecting something and then having it pulled out from under you. He recalled a year ago sitting on the couch at Mellie’s, a balloon and a bucket of cold beer on the table, but Jimmy and the money he’d spent ninety days in prison for nowhere to be found.

 

The memory and the feeling that came with it were so vivid in his mind for a moment that he almost didn’t notice Stensland was still talking.

 

“Oh well, these things happen, right?” Stensland shrugged and smiled. “C’est la vie and all that. Sorry if I ruined your plans. You’re free to go. I mean, of course you are, you never _weren’t_ free to go. I just mean if there was something else you wanted to do tonight you can – “

 

“I got nowhere to be,” Clyde interrupted quietly. Stensland stopped talking and their eyes finally met. There was something vulnerable lurking under the usual enthusiasm.

 

Clyde slowly leaned forward and chose the cider. He held it in his prosthetic and with the other hand picked up the spoon Stensland had set out for the dip. In one quick motion he opened the bottle.

 

When he leaned forward again to set the spoon down he snatched a chip from the bowl and used it to scoop up a generous amount of dip. He sat back, took a swig of the cider and then popped the chip into his mouth.

 

Stensland was staring at him like he was a raccoon that had found its way from the woods into his living room. For a few beats Clyde felt the familiar thrum of regret begin in his gut, the same feeling he used to have as a teenager when he got roped into Jimmy’s schemes and realized it was too late to back out. Maybe Stensland had only invited him when he thought there would be a group of people there. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone in his apartment with some awkward stranger…

 

Then Stensland’s face broke into a smile and he tossed his phone aside without responding to the message. “ _That’s_ a relief, here I thought I was going to have to finish off those lemon squares all on my own!”

 

He made his way to the pile of games he’d stacked on a chair and began sorting through them. Clyde took advantage of his distraction to shovel some more chips and dip onto a paper plate. He wondered if Stensland had made the dip, too. It was very good.

 

“Let’s see, what have I got that two people can play. There’s Scrabble, checkers, Monopoly – no, if we play monopoly it might take up your whole trip – mancala, Yahtzee, I have an old deck of cards…anything standing out to you?”

 

Clyde paused mid-bite, feeling like a deer in the headlights. Stensland glanced from him to the plate and looked so pleased that Clyde couldn’t quite feel embarrassed.

 

“Um,” Clyde began after he’d finished the chip. “Checkers?”

 

“A classic! Good choice.” Stensland brought the game over and rearranged the food to fit the board and pieces on the table. His gaze darted up to Clyde again. “You can spread out a bit, you know. Get comfortable. No one else here to worry about.” There was no disappointment in his voice.

 

So Clyde let himself relax and stretch out a bit, not too much, not like he would at home, but enough that the tension eased out of him. The food and drink was helping. So was Stensland’s easy demeanor. Maybe this vacation stuff wasn’t so bad.

 

They played five rounds of checkers. Clyde won four, and only lost the fifth because it became clear right away that Stensland would persist until he won, only he wasn’t very _good_ at checkers, and so that could take all night.

 

After that Clyde let Stensland teach him Yahtzee, which he picked up quickly. Clyde taught Stensland some of the card games he used to play with his unit, with mixed results. He gently turned down Scrabble; he read a lot and had a bigger vocabulary than people gave him credit for, but imagined a city boy like Stensland would still have him beat there. All the while they chatted amicably as they had in the coffee shop, so naturally, as though they’d known each other much longer than a few hours.

 

Clyde finished nearly all of the dip and half of the lemon squares, three ciders and a big glass of water. He was beginning to feel drowsy; a glance at the time told him it was only ten-thirty, but with the three hour time difference that made it one-thirty back home. His bar closed at one, which meant now was when he’d be closing up and heading home for the night.

 

Mid-move in their current card game, he gave a yawn so big he had to quickly cover it with his arm. Stensland chuckled. “Maybe that’s enough cider for you. Don’t want you falling asleep before you can get back to your hotel.”

 

Clyde didn’t mention that he hadn’t booked at hotel yet, or that the backpack he had with him, which he’d dropped in the doorway when he arrived, contained the only things he brought with him. He didn’t need much.

 

Somehow, Clyde found himself lying across the worn-in couch, a rom-com he’d never heard of playing on the old TV across the room. Stensland, who had ended up in pajamas at some point, was sitting in a bean bag chair and kept throwing in fun facts about the film’s cast. Clyde felt guilty that he was only catching bits and pieces of the movie, and of what Stensland was saying, but he felt so warm and comfortable, and his eyelids felt so heavy, and it had been a long, long day…

 

 *

 

Clyde woke to sun streaming in through the thin curtains. For a moment he froze, breath coming in short pants, alarmed at finding himself in an unfamiliar place. As his eyes flicked around the room, though, he began to recognize things – the three empty cider bottles, the stack of board games, the bean bag chair with an indent still in it. Slowly things came back to him: he’d met a man named Stensland at a coffee shop, and ended up spending the first day of his vacation playing games and watching movies at his place.

 

Other details began to trickle in. He was covered in a blanket, a quilt to be exact, with fraying edges, clearly well-loved. As he shifted, a familiar weight on his left side was notably absent. He felt around and, sure enough, his prosthetic had been removed. To his relief, a quick glance to the coffee table revealed it had been set gently on a folded dish towel.

 

Something about that made a long-forgotten feeling well up in his chest. For a moment his eyes blurred. He let out a shuddering breath and pulled the quilt more tightly around himself. He felt the strangest mix of perfectly comfortable and utterly homesick.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the door closing. He sat up slowly and attempted to smooth his hair into something resembling decent.

 

“Morning, sleepy head! Sorry I stepped out, I figured you'd want something for breakfast that wasn't instant oats.”

 

“Oh. Alright,” Clyde said, still a little groggy and confused as to why Stensland let him stay.

 

Stensland kicked off his shoes and shuffled into the kitchenette, grocery bag in hand. He began piling things into the counter. “How do you like your bacon?” he asked, as if they were roommates and this was the sort of thing they did every day.

 

“Burnt,” Clyde answered without thinking. Then, “you don't...have to do this.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Let me stay. Make me breakfast. We only met yesterday.”

 

Stensland shrugged, that infectious smile on his face again. “What can I say? Playing Yahtzee is a bonding experience.” Then he grew serious, though one corner of his mouth remained upturned. “And it was...nice to have someone over. Especially when I made all that food.”

 

“Well I appreciate it. I would've had a very boring night on my own.”

 

“So you really came here on vacation all by yourself?” Stensland began rummaging through his cabinets as he spoke. “Why not with family or friends or...a partner or something?’

 

The use of _partner_ rather than _wife_ or _girlfriend_ didn't escape Clyde's notice.

 

“Jimmy said - that's my brother I told you about - Jimmy said I needed a vacation and our sister Mellie agreed and we're all goin’ to the lake at the end of summer before Sadie goes back to school, but they all said I should get one of my own and…here I am.”

 

“And here you are,” Stensland echoed, nodding as if it all made sense. Clyde appreciated that he didn’t push, didn’t expect any more explanation than that. Only accepted it.

 

“Now where did I put that frying pan?” Stensland was saying, more to himself now than to Clyde.

 

He was standing on his tiptoes, reaching up to a cabinet above the microwave. The action made the thin, pale blue t-shirt he wore pull up, revealing a strip of the pale skin of his lower back. Clyde suddenly had to look away, something stirring that he hadn't felt in quite some time.

 

“Ah, there it is! Shit… shit shit _shit…”_

 

Clyde looked up again to find Stensland had found not only the frying pan but several other pans, all of which were tilting precariously halfway out of the cabinet, one wrong move from falling right onto Stensland’s face…

 

Then Clyde was on his feet, moving fast, faster than he had when fleeing the explosion Joe Bang rigged up, and then…

 

“ _Oof_!”

 

He didn't _mean_ to run into Stensland quite so hard, pinning him to the counter and knocking the breath from him, but he was focused on reaching up his hand to join Stensland’s in keeping the pile of pans at bay.

 

For a moment nothing moved, not them, not the pans, even the birds outside seemed to go silent. The only sound in the room was their shaky breaths.

 

Slowly, using all three of their hands together, they lowered the pans onto the stovetop.

 

The moment the danger had passed, Clyde became aware of _every single point of contact_ between himself and Stensland. His nose in that soft, bright  hair, which smelled faintly like honeysuckle and reminded him of summer. His chest flush with Stensland’s back. His left arm on Stensland's waist as though steadying him. And…

 

And his hips, pressed right up against Stensland's skinny ass, which in his sudden lightheadedness seemed to fit there perfectly. In fact, all of him did, and Clyde had the strange, sudden, overwhelming urge to close his arms around him and keep him there. Keep him close.

 

“That was a close one,” Stensland said, voice a little breathy. Probably from being _slammed against the counter_ , Clyde realized and jerked away from him, taking several steps back.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry, I…”

 

Stensland didn't turn around, wasn't looking at him. He seemed focused on the counter, his breathing measured, and Clyde felt increasingly guilty. He hoped with every fiber of his being that he hadn't hurt Stensland, after everything he'd done for him.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, fearful of the answer.

 

“Just fine!” Stensland said cheerily but his voice still sounded strained. He glanced over his shoulder then back down but in the brief glimpse Clyde got of his face he could tell it was flushed pink. “I just...need a moment…”

 

Before Clyde could pour out a dozen more _sorries,_ Stensland darted off into the bathroom, shutting the door. A second later Clyde heard the click of the lock followed by muffled cursing as something was knocked over. Then the shower came on.

 

Clyde stood in the kitchenette staring at the bathroom door. Slowly, as though his veins were filled with lead, he lifted one hand to his t-shirt and drew it up to his nose.

 

He had spent several hours of the previous morning on a crowded plane, and then spent the day walking the city and the night sleeping on a couch in the same clothes, so he supposed he didn't exactly smell delightful, but he didn't think it was so bad it warranted a shower after a little contact like that.

 

Then again, he didn't know Stensland very well. Maybe he had a thing about germs, like Mellie’s client Paula who brought her own wipes to use on the stuff at the salon.

 

Or maybe, Clyde thought with growing dread, he'd made Stensland uncomfortable and he was hiding in there hoping Clyde would leave.

 

Shoulders slumping, Clyde returned to the couch to pick up his arm from the coffee table and slot it into place. Looking at it reminded him of Jimmy and the heist, which made him more homesick than ever. But he made a promise to take a vacation and he was going to stick to it, even if he'd managed to screw up already.

 

He resolutely ignored the voice whispering at the back of his mind that this was the curse at work. Curses didn't do little things like him making a fool of himself in front of someone who'd been kind to him. If his plane went down, or his wallet got stolen, _then_ he'd blame the curse. Maybe even Jimmy would believe it then.

 

He slipped his shoes on and hoisted his backpack up from where he dropped it when he entered. Before he opened the door he paused. The shower had stopped and there was movement from the bathroom. He should go now, before he made a bigger mess of things.

 

The bathroom door opened and immediately Stensland's voice filled the room, upbeat as ever, as though nothing had happened.

 

“Sorry about that! I was - um - hmm. I have a skin...thing, you see, and I have to wash every so often, and I'd just realized I forgot to before I left, and - oh. You're leaving?”

 

He sounded so surprised that Clyde turned without thinking, without remembering to try to look less miserable than he felt.

 

Stensland was standing there in different clothes, tan slacks and a white undershirt under a white button-up that was only buttoned halfway, his hair damp and messy, his expression like that of a child who'd had their favorite toy taken away.

 

“That's fine, of course,” he added quickly, “it's just I was about to start the...bacon…”

 

He trailed off and looked away. Clyde followed his gaze over to where he'd set the bag of groceries then back to Stensland's face, which was growing pinkish again, his expression warring between several things that Clyde couldn't name.

 

Clyde slowly lowered the backpack from his shoulder and let it dangle from his hand. At the movement, Stensland looked at him again, eyes wide as they darted between his face and the bag.

 

Clyde swallowed and, figuring he had nothing to lose at this point, asked,

 

“Do you want me to stay?”

 

Stensland blinked several times. He looked frightened again, but now Clyde was pretty sure it wasn’t him he was frightened of anymore.

 

“Yes,” Stensland said suddenly as if something that had been holding him back finally gave way. “If you want. Yes. I - yes.”

 

Clyde let the backpack drop to the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Not long after their breakfast of burned bacon and poached eggs and Greek yogurt, which Clyde had never had but Stensland said was better for you than the regular stuff so Clyde ate it, Stensland had to leave for work.

 

Clyde stood awkwardly by the door while Stensland hurried about finishing getting ready. He wasn't sure what happened next and he was even less sure of how to find out. If this was it and he wouldn't see Stensland again maybe he should thank him, or offer him money or something...

 

As if he'd heard Clyde's silent fretting, Stensland appeared out of nowhere, holding something out to him. It took several long moments staring at his expectant face for Clyde to realize he was supposed to take it. He held his hand out and let Stensland drop something small and metal into it.

 

A key.

 

“It's the spare key for my place,” he explained, “in case you need - “ he faltered, then, but only for a moment before he regained his footing. “In case you need anything. Somewhere to crash. You probably want to spend your vacation at a nice hotel, but you're welcome here any time.”

 

Clyde slid his thumb over the silver key in his palm and felt something well up in his chest. He closed his hand around it and slid it carefully into his pocket.

 

“Thank you,” he said as sincerely as he could around the waver in his voice. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I’m basically a stranger.”

 

“Of course not,” Stensland said with a dismissive wave of his hand, while with the other he checked to see that he had his own key. “If you wanted to – I don’t know, murder me or something – you had plenty of chances already. And I don’t have anything worth stealing.”

 

Before Clyde could find words that even came close to what he wanted to say, Stensland was throwing on a jacket and opening the front door.

 

“Sorry, gotta run, I’m already five minutes late! Go do something fun! Text me! Bye!”

 

The door shut and footsteps plodded away down the hall.

 

“Thank you,” Clyde said to the empty room.

 

*

 

Clyde spent his second day in Seattle walking around some more. He found one of the nice parks Stensland told him about and spent a while there, just watching people go by. He went up in the Space Needle, just so he could say he’d done it. He bought another coffee and this time got something called a biscotti with it. It was good, and he decided then and there to make a goal of trying one new food each day he was here.

 

Stensland had asked Clyde to text him, but every time Clyde pulled out his phone, he had no idea what to say. _Thank you_ had become repetitive. _How’s your day going_ felt too generic. _What are the plans for tonight_ felt too personal, and besides, he didn’t know if Stensland _had_ plans for tonight or if he’d be invited to join in.

 

He didn’t even know what time Stensland got done with work. It was a little past four. For all Clyde knew, he could already be home now. Maybe he'd waited for a text all day…

 

With newfound resolve, Clyde pulled out his phone again and sent: _Do you want me to pick up some takeout?_ He didn't fancy sitting at a restaurant by himself and if he was going to bring something back to the apartment he may as well offer. It could be a small step towards repaying him for his hospitality.

 

Not two minutes later his phone chimed with a reply.

 

_Are you sure? That would be lovely. Here's a list of my favorite places, take your pick._

 

A second text popped in a moment later with a list of restaurants. Clyde picked one at random, flagged down a cab and was off to see what the evening would bring.

 

*

 

Three hours later Clyde and Stensland were each sprawled at an end of the couch. Their takeout containers were still spread across the coffee table, along with the now-empty dish of Stensland's lemon squares and several empty beer cans from the pack Clyde had picked up on a whim on his way back. Full and drowsy, neither of them were in any hurry to get up and put things away.

 

Three of the beers were Clyde's while Stensland had only had one and a half, yet already there was a slight slur to his words.

 

“So what's it like in…” he waved his hand vaguely while Clyde stared. One of Stensland's legs was flopped across one of his and it was distracting.

 

“In…West Virginia?”

 

“Yeahhh.”

 

“It's...quiet. Lots of forest and mountains and lakes. Small towns. Not much happens.”

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“Sometimes. I think the routine of things was good for me after…” he lifted his arm in explanation.

 

Stensland glanced at his arm then back to Clyde's face and again Clyde felt a surge of relief that he seemed unbothered by it.

 

“Have you ever thought about getting a hook for it?” He held up a hand and made a little hook shape with one finger.

 

Clyde stared at him, unblinking.

 

Lots of people asked how he'd lost it. Some asked if it ever hurt, or if he could still feel the limb sometimes, or if he ever forgot it wasn't there and would reach for things (the answer was yes, to all of it).

 

But no one had ever…no one had looked at tall, broad Clyde Logan and had the _balls_ to...

 

His lips began to twitch and suddenly he was laughing. It started small, almost a _giggle_ , and grew until his lo-mein-stuffed belly started to hurt and tears prickled at the corners of his eyes.

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, but he knew it had to be before his first deployment. After he returned home, everything was sort of…muted. His joy, his sorrow, even the anger and bitterness he could sometimes feel simmering inside always fizzled out before it reached the surface. Sure, he laughed at Mellie’s salon stories and Sadie’s knock-knock jokes, but never like this.

 

At the other end of the couch Stensland sat frozen, watching him. He'd looked frightened at first but the more Clyde laughed the more he relaxed.

 

“Like...like Captain Hook?” Clyde finally managed, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“Who else?” Stensland replied, smiling now. “You said you're a bartender, right? You could use it to scare off unsavory customers! You'd be a local legend!”

 

That set Clyde off laughing again, imagining the looks on the faces of some of his more difficult regulars. Oh, lord, the fun he could have messing with the Bang brothers…

 

His giggles died down slowly as he began to feel that his food might make a reappearance if he kept it up. Stensland was smiling in a way that lit up his whole face. Clyde quickly reached to open another beer just to make himself quit staring at that smile.

 

“I could tell you,” he said after taking a long swig of his drink.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I could tell you how I got this. If you were wondering.” He took another drink. “Most folks wonder.”

 

He didn't hide what had happened from people - there would be no point trying in a town like theirs - but he didn't offer it up freely either. It got him talking about the curse which got people looking at him funny and eventually he decided it was none of their business anyway and kept things like that between him and Jimmy and Mellie.

 

“I'm guessing it wasn't in a lightsaber battle with your father?”

 

Clyde chuckled. “Nope. That'd be a much more interesting story.”

 

Then he told Stensland everything, from Jimmy being on the path to greatness and Clyde feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t do _something_ , to the explosion and waking up days later with part of himself just _gone_ , inside and out. He glossed over the time overseas, it was all a blur now anyway. And he stopped before how he got to how different things were, how different _he_ was, afterward.

It was the first time he’d talked about everything all together like that. Even when he went, just the one time, to that therapist they tried to get him to see, he clammed up and gave one word answers until the session was over. He just wanted to _move on_. And so he didn’t talk about it.

But maybe there was something to be said for talking about it. By the time he was done Clyde felt as though he’d shoveled out some sludge that had built up inside him somewhere, relieving him of a burden he didn’t even know was carrying.

To his credit, for all that he could talk, Stensland could also listen when he wanted to. He remained dutifully silent the whole way through, watching Clyde with a calm, serious expression that almost seemed to belong to a different man.

Clyde stopped abruptly when he realized he was all out of things to tell. He looked down at his knees, the silence heavy around them as he waited for whatever Stensland would have to say.

After what felt like forever, finally he spoke. “And now you run a bar?”

Clyde let out his breath. “And now I run a bar.”

“Roadside bombs aside, running a bar sounds more dangerous than the military.”

Clyde’s mouth twitched again in that way it did when he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it, only this time it didn’t stop there. He actually smiled.

“You might be right there. One time I had to Molotov some guy’s car because he picked a fight with my brother.”

“You did not!”

“I did too. There’d be video evidence ‘cept Jimmy threw the guy’s phone into the fire.”

Stensland was laughing and Clyde just sat there smiling. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Pity? More questions? Asking if he wanted to _talk about how he felt_? But Stensland had just let him say his piece and move on, and Clyde was grateful beyond words.

He shifted around into a more comfortable position on the couch and as he moved he flinched at the shift of the prosthetic against his skin. It was a _very_ good one, way more functional and comfortable than his last, but after a long day moving about doing things it still got a little sore. But he didn’t know if it would be alright to…

“You can take that off if you want,” Stensland said, nodding to the arm. He made a disgruntled little noise as he sat up to start reluctantly gathering up their mess. “If you’re in for the night that is. I know I am. I was going to put something on the telly, if that’s alright with you?”

It sounded more than alright, to just spend the evening lazing about after walking all day. More so that he could spend it with his new…acquaintance? Friend?

Before Stensland could pile one too many empty cans into his arms, Clyde quickly stood to help him. Together they managed to get everything into the kitchen, where Stensland had them dump it all into the sink to deal with later.

“Sounds good to me,” Clyde said a moment later when he realized he hadn’t answered. He felt like he should offer more than that, but it was apparently enough from the way Stensland grinned.

“Great! Go ahead and get comfortable. Slip into some jammies, whatever. Oh, and you’re welcome to the shower of course! Just give it a minute for the hot water to kick in, I learned that the hard way when I got the place.”

Before Clyde could thank him Stensland had moved back to the living room to keep tidying up.

 

Showering for the first time in two days felt _incredible_. Clyde tried not to stay in too long, but it was hard not to as he relaxed under the spray, even if it was a little cramped. Then again, most things tended to be cramped for him.

He stepped out and wrapped the towel Stensland said he could use around his hips. He reached to the edge of the sink for his comb to tame his hair and…

And his comb was in his backpack, which was still out by the door. He’d have to put on his clothes first and go get it, except…

Except his clothes were in the bag too. He’d pulled out his shampoo and soap and that was it _._

This felt more like the kind of luck he was used to. He was going to have to walk out there in nothing but a towel and find his things, or maybe drag the whole bag in here with him. That wouldn’t be awkward or anything.

Clyde steeled himself. This wasn’t a big deal. These sort of things happened. They were both adults. Maybe he could sneak out and Stensland wouldn’t even notice him…yeah, that sounded like a plan.

He inched the door open and peeked out.

Stensland was seated on the couch, his back to the bathroom, wearing a thin t-shirt and pajama pants and flipping through the channels. Clyde’s gaze drifted to the doorway, where their shoes were lined up side-by-side like they lived together or something, and next to them sat his backpack.

One careful step at a time Clyde crept forward, barely breathing. He’d almost made it when his foot landed on a loose floorboard and it creaked loudly. Clyde flinched and stopped, glancing at the couch again.

“All finished?” Stensland called, not turning around. “While you’re up, if you don’t mind, could you grab the chips and dip? I know we just ate our weight in Chinese food but I can always go for a snack.”

“Uh. Yeah, sure. ‘course I can.” Clyde took another careful step and snatched up the backpack.

“Oh and the towel you can just hang on the – “ and then, _of course_ , just when he was almost in the clear, Stensland turned and looked.

Clyde stood frozen, still half leaning forward, the bag clenched in the fist of his right hand.

Stensland was just…staring at him. He looked a bit like an owl, his hair all fluffy and his eyes wide and unblinking. Slowly, those eyes swept downward, starting at somewhere around Clyde’s shoulders and moving all the way to his feet, then back up.

At that moment, to Clyde’s horror, he could feel the towel begin to slip.

“I – uh. Um.” He glanced back to the bathroom. It suddenly seemed miles away.

“You – shit! Sorry!” In a blur of movement, Stensland threw himself forward onto the couch, ducking completely out of sight. Clyde quickly hooked the backpack on the elbow of his left arm, used his right to keep the towel up and hurried back into the bathroom.

When he worked up the nerve to reemerge a few minutes later, dressed in sleep shorts and a t-shirt and carrying his prosthetic, Stensland had gotten up to get the chips and dip himself and had them along with two mugs of steaming tea sitting on the coffee table. He was sitting sheepishly at one end with his knees pulled up to his chest, and when Clyde came to sit at the other end he wouldn’t quite look him in the eye. His cheeks were bright pink.

“Sorry,” he said, picking at a loose thread on the knee of his pajama pants. “For staring. It’s not often that I have a half-naked man in my apartment. Actually I don’t make a habit of having a half-naked _anyone_ in my apartment, wonderful as that’d be. It’s just not that nice of an apartment, so usually I -”

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Clyde said. He didn’t like interrupting, but he hated to see Stensland get all worked up over nothing. Clyde was the one who’d left his bag in the other room, and he was the guest here, using Stensland’s shower and towels and things.

And the staring…well, that was probably just shock. Clyde knew he wasn’t much to look at.

Stensland slowly started to uncurl, looking relieved. Clyde relaxed too. He set his arm on the dish towel that had appeared once again on the coffee table for it and again felt a little pulse of gratitude.

Everything felt so good just then. He was full and clean and comfortable and removing the arm after having it on all day felt _amazing_.  The only downside was that all the good feelings made the one bad one – the slight soreness in his left arm – stand out in sharp relief. He stretched and leaned back into the couch cushions and rubbed at the stump a little with a sigh.

At the movement, Stensland finally looked at him.

“That looks like it smarts. Wait here, I’ve got just the thing.” He was up and away to the bathroom before Clyde could insist that he was fine.

When he returned he had a thin, pale green bottle in hand.

“This stuff is great,” he said as he plopped down onto the couch, closer to Clyde than before. He held up the bottle. “It's got aloe in it and a bunch of vitamins. It's meant for sensitive skin, dermatologist approved!”

For the first few weeks after the incision healed up, Clyde had used a medicated ointment given to him by the doctor. It was supposed to help reduce the scarring and keep it from itching, but it smelled god-awful and left a sticky mess, so he stopped using it as soon as he could.

He eyed the bottle skeptically.

“What’s it smell like?”

“See for yourself.” Stensland popped the cap open and held it out for Clyde to sniff at.

It smelled…light and fresh. Not quite floral, but it reminded him of being in a garden. He liked it.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try,” he said.

“Alright then. Hold out your arm.”

Clyde blinked at him. Oblivious to his bewilderment, Stensland squeezed a sizeable dollop of the cream into one hand and then set the bottle aside and rubbed both hands together. Then he held open his hands expectantly.

As if in a trance, his body acting of its own volition before his mind could catch up, Clyde extended his arm and carefully, so carefully, Stensland took it between his hands and began spreading the cream over it.

Immediately, Clyde shuddered at the contact. Stensland only half noticed, focused on his task.

“I know, it’s a bit cold right? That’s the aloe at work.” His movements were steady, his touch gentle as his slender hands smoothed the cream into his skin, and…and it felt so…no one had ever…

“Isn’t this weird for you?” Clyde blurted out. “I mean doesn’t it…” _Doesn’t it creep you out? Even a little?_

Stensland huffed. “It’s not as if you’ve got some alien appendage. It’s just an arm. You’ve still got most of it, really. It’s just the hand that’s missing.”

Clyde couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. “That’s exactly what I tell people.”

“There.” Stensland’s hands pulling away felt like a gust of cold wind. “How does that feel?”

The soreness was long gone, replaced by the pleasant tingling sensation of the cream and the phantom feeling of gentle hands. Clyde swallowed and lowered his arm into his lap.

“Good. It feels…really good.”


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday and Thursday passed in very much the same way as Tuesday had: in the morning Clyde and Stensland ate breakfast together before Stensland left for work. Then Clyde went to the places Stensland recommended to him, making sure to take pictures to show folks back home. He kept his promise to himself to try a new food each day; Wednesday it was a frappuccino, Thursday was falafel.

 

On the way back to the apartment every evening Clyde would pick up food, each time from a different place on Stensland's list. Wednesday he also got things to make some cocktails he thought Stensland might prefer over beer.

 

Thursday night Clyde brought home two massive hoagies and a carton of ice cream, for no other reason than it was a warm day and ice cream sounded good.

 

They lazed around the apartment in shorts and tank tops watching cooking shows and eating big spoonfuls of ice cream, the warm glow of sunset filling the room with gold. When Clyde stopped mid-scoop and looked across the couch at Stensland, he felt as warm inside as he did outside. Stensland was laughing at something on the show, and when he turned to see if Clyde was laughing too, the light caught on his hair and eyes, turning them into spun gold and glowing gems, his contagious laugh making laughter bubble up in Clyde’s chest too before he even knew it was happening. Stensland was a jumble of pale skinny limbs with knobby knees and elbows but soft-looking skin and softer-looking hair and Clyde had the overwhelming, breath-stealing desire to bundle him up in his arms and hold him until he could feel or hear or smell nothing else. He wanted…he wanted…

 

“Clyde? _Clyde?_ Hellooooo…”

 

He was snapped from his daze by a blur moving in front of his face – a hand, Stensland’s hand waving to get his attention. When he blinked and focused and lowered the spoon back to his bowl he found Stensland looking at him with a mix of amusement and concern on his face.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

“Yeah. ‘Course.” His voice felt distant to his own ears.

 

“You sure? We can watch something else if you’re not enjoying this, though I’d like to at least finish the episode and find out if Rebecca’s puff pastry is as good as she seems to think it’s going to be…”

 

“Oh, uh, I'm fine with anything, really.” He knew he was being awkward but could never figure out how to stop when that happened. He looked around the room for something, anything to change the subject. “You have a record player?” He noticed it earlier in the week but couldn't think of a good reason to ask about it.

 

At the confused look Stensland gave him, Clyde wanted to crawl between the couch cushions and hide there the rest of the night.

 

But then Stensland's face relaxed and he smiled a little wistfully.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “It was my mum’s. The records too. Still works and everything.”

 

“My grandparents had one too,” Clyde replied. “But we weren't allowed to touch it. Maw said we'd break it. She was probably right.” All the dexterity and patience it took to bartend one handed was self-taught; in his youth he’d been clumsy and reckless and it had gotten him in trouble more times than he could count.

 

“Well, you can touch mine.” There was a heavy silence and then Stensland's face went beet red. “My - the record player! I mean!” He made a distressed noise and covered his face with one hand.

 

“I knew what you meant,” Clyde said quietly, immediately sympathetic to the feeling of words coming out wrong.

 

Stensland peeked out between his fingers. Slowly he lowered his hand, still flushed but looking less like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

 

“Could I really? Look at the record player I mean.”

 

“Yes, of course!” Stensland stood eagerly and muted the TV, forgetting all about Rebecca and her puff pastry. He walked over to the table holding the player, motioning for Clyde to follow, and plopped down onto the floor beside it. Clyde followed and mirrored him, sitting cross-legged, their knees bumping.

 

Stensland dragged out a box full of records and nudged it to Clyde. “Take a look. Pick something out.”

 

Clyde carefully flipped through while Stensland leaned forward and watched. His eyes kept flicking up to Clyde’s face and back and Clyde wished he knew what it meant.

 

“Mum was the best,” Stensland began again after a moment of silence. “She had _great_ taste in music, as you can see. She’d play these for me in the afternoons after school. Each one…each one has some memory or another connected to it. Some good, some bad.”

 

Clyde looked up from the box. It occurred to him just then that he only had a couple more days here; just Friday and Saturday, then his flight out was Sunday morning. The thought brought a sudden tightness in his chest, and an urgency that he couldn’t quite explain.

 

“Will you tell me some?” He asked quietly.

 

This time when Stensland looked up at his face, he kept on looking, eyes wide and hair falling into his face and it took all of Clyde’s self-control not to reach out and smooth it back. Whatever this was that made him want that, it terrified him. Stensland was so…buoyant, and Clyde felt like a hunk of lead that would only weigh him down.

 

“They’re probably not as interesting as Spring Baking Championship, but…alright. Did you pick something?”

 

Clyde pulled out the one he’d stopped at and Stensland smiled when he saw the cover.

 

“John Denver. Should have guessed.”

 

Stensland sat up on his knees and Clyde mirrored him, watching as he oh so carefully removed the record from its sleeve and set it up.

 

As the familiar first few strums of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” came on, Clyde closed his eyes and settled back to lie on the floor, arms resting on his stomach. He hadn’t been homesick in a couple days now, but felt it stir a little just then.

 

He heard shifting and shuffling and when he opened his eyes, Stensland was lying beside him, only inches away. He was watching Clyde with a knowing little smile on his face. He patted Clyde’s arm sympathetically.

 

“Being away from home is hard.”

 

“I did it twice before, for way longer, when I went overseas. ‘Dunno why it was easier then. I was young and stupid, I guess.” Then he frowned, feeling selfish. “You’re even farther from home, and you live here. It’s harder for you.”

 

Stensland’s hand left his arm and Clyde missed it immediately. “Not really. Ireland stopped being home after mum died. I didn’t have much else to stay for. Here is…a good enough substitute, I guess.”

 

Clyde scooted a little closer. “You still alright with tellin’ me some of those memories?”

 

Stensland nodded. He reached a hand blindly to the box sitting to his other side and pulled out the first record his fingers landed on. He held it up for both of them to see. He’d picked ABBA.

 

“Ah, perfect,” he said with a laugh in his voice, “you’ll like this story…”

 

He began recounting a tale about dressing in his cousin’s oversized hand-me-down clothes and dancing around the living room while his mother laughed and tried to get him to stay still long enough for a photo. The story was made funnier by the way he told it, vibrant and embellished and genuine.

 

The sun set outside but the light in the kitchen and the glow of the TV was enough to see by. Somewhere their bowls of ice cream were melting and their drinks were growing room temperature and what was left of their sandwiches needed to be refrigerated, but nothing seemed to matter outside of this small world of theirs, side-by-side on the floor with their shoulders brushing and music filling the air.

 

One at a time, Stensland took out each record, holding it up reverently while he told its story. As it turned out, ‘some good, some bad’ mostly meant bad. It was all downhill after the cute ABBA story, stories of loss and heartbreak, of his father leaving, of never fitting in anywhere.

 

His voice shook at some points, and more than once Clyde thought maybe he should tell him it was alright, he didn’t have to tell the ones that made him sad, but Stensland was so absorbed in what he was saying and Clyde would feel rude interrupting, so he didn’t.

 

And then…

 

“This one,” Stensland said, pulling out the last album with a sigh. Instead of plunging right into the story, he stared at it, gaze distant.

 

Side one was almost finished, the mellow notes adding to the melancholy that had settled over them.

 

_The taxi's waitin'_

_He's blowin' his horn_

_Already I'm so lonesome_

_I could die_

 

Carefully, Clyde shifted enough to close the last bit of distance, their arms pressing right up against each other. He felt Stensland’s foot bump his and then drift away and then return to settle against it. If Clyde leaned his head just so he could have nuzzled his nose into that soft hair.

 

They’d only known each other three days, but this felt like the most natural thing in the world.

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Clyde whispered, “if it’s too hard.”

 

“This was the last one she listened to before she – before she – “

 

He cut off with a sniffle and a shuddering exhale and Clyde had to keep his gaze resolutely on the ceiling because he knew if he looked and saw tears he’d stop him right there, rude or not.

 

“When I got home from the funeral I felt like some kind of zombie. Everyone kept trying to talk to me but I didn’t want any of them, I just wanted her. So I walked into her sitting room and sat in her big old floral armchair and started the player and…and it was this. I haven’t actually listened to it since then, I…can’t…”

 

His voice began to tremble too much to go on and it was too much, Clyde could feel tears building in his own eyes and he quickly sat up and turned to look down at Stensland. The song had ended and there was silence except for cars passing outside and the sound of Stensland trying to muffle his sniffs.

 

“...I miss my mama too,” Clyde said quietly, at a loss for anything better to do or say, he just…he just wanted Stensland to know it was _okay_ to feel sad, because it _was_ sad, and if he needed to cry, Clyde wouldn’t think less of him.

 

“Oh, god,” Stensland said, voice strained. He sat up too. “You too?”

 

“Yeah,” Clyde replied solemnly. “She got sick.”

 

And for some reason that, _that_ was what made the last of Stensland’s restraint crumble. He began to cry, his shoulders shuddering with every hiccup, the tears on his cheeks gleaming in the dim light.

 

Clyde reached for him, not even sure what he was trying to do. Luckily Stensland moved too, towards him, falling against him with his face smushed into Clyde’s shoulder.

 

And there was nothing else Clyde _could_ do but close his arms tight around him and hold him. Stensland latched onto him immediately, his hands clutching Clyde’s shirt so tight he thought it might rip, but that was the least of his concerns. Clyde squeezed his eyes shut and let Stensland sob against him.

 

Within a few minutes Stensland had worn himself out and was still and quiet except for his slow breaths and the occasional sniffle. He kept his face tucked against Clyde’s neck and Clyde could feel the dampness of tears where they’d soaked the fabric of his tank top.

 

“Better?” Clyde asked cautiously after a moment. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt the grip on his shirt tighten.

 

“Yes. Yes, that was…I needed that. I haven’t talked about this in a long time. Thank you. You’re very sweet. I bet people tell you that a lot.”

 

 _Sweet_ had always felt like a thing Clyde got called when people couldn’t think of something better to say about someone who wasn’t smart or handsome or particularly good at anything other than bartending. Yet coming from Stensland it sounded like a real compliment.

 

“Why do you keep them?” He asked as gently as he could. “The records, I mean. If they make you sad?”

 

“Because they were _hers_ ,” Stensland responded, insistent but not angry. “And because they’re part of who I am.”

 

Clyde paused, unsure about what he wanted to ask, but curiosity got the better of him.

 

“What about this one?”

 

“Hm?

 

“The one we just listened to. The John Denver one. Does that have a story?”

 

Stensland was quiet a moment and Clyde hoped with all his being that it wasn’t a sad story.

 

Then Stensland finally released his iron-tight grip on Clyde’s shirt and sat up enough to look at him.

 

“It does.” He paused. “There was this one time I met a very nice man at a coffee shop who didn’t know what to order. He ended up staying at my place, eating takeout and watching movies with me, and we listened to this album. Now whenever I hear it I’ll think of him.”

 

Clyde’s heart swelled with too many emotions at once. It felt like something was caught in his throat all of a sudden, and when he tried to speak all that came out was a puff of air. Maybe that was for the best; he didn’t have a clue what he’d say anyway. Instead, he smiled so big he could feel his eyes crinkling at the edges. To his relief, Stensland smiled back.

 

There were still a couple of hours left until what had become their bedtime, around eleven. Clyde doubted Stensland wanted to spend the rest of it listening to records.

 

“So,” he began. “What would cheer you up?”

 

Stensland’s mouth and nose did what Clyde had come to think of as _that bunny thing_ , twisting to one side as he thought.

 

“Well…there is one thing.”

 

“What?”

 

“Have you ever heard of Dawson’s Creek?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^; I keep thinking I should add notes on the chapters, but...I don't have much to add?
> 
>  
> 
> Everyone's comments so far have been wonderful and they mean a lot to me. <3

When Stensland arrived home – to the _apartment_ , Clyde had to remind himself, this wasn’t his home – late Friday afternoon, he was…different.

 

Clyde had arrived back early from his outing to the Museum of Flight and was lounging on the couch clicking through the pictures he’d taken on his phone. He was sending one to Jimmy and Mellie when there was the sound of the key rattling in the lock and a moment later the slow creak of it opening. Clyde hit send and sat up, ready with a smile and a greeting that froze on his lips.

 

He knew something was off immediately. Stensland was always a bit disheveled, it seemed to be his natural state, but that day he looked like he’d lost a battle with a small tornado. His hair was a mess, his white shirt half-untucked and grass-stained, his shoes and the bottoms of his slacks muddy along with a tear in the knee of on leg of the slacks. He looked paler than usual except for a flush on his cheeks and he was breathing heavily as though he’d been running. As he kicked off the shoes with a grumble, nearly tripping as he did, he slammed the door shut behind him, and it was only when the _bang_ made Clyde jump that Stensland noticed he was sitting there.

 

His face did several things rapid-fire: eyes widening, mouth dropping open, mouth snapping shut, face scrunching up, before finally he cast his eyes downward and sighed, and as he did everything about him seemed to droop, from his shoulders to his posture to his mouth into a deep frown.

 

“Afternoon,” he said cheerlessly. “I hope you had a better day than I did.” He flinched. “Sorry, that was…sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it into place, not quite succeeding. It was then that Clyde noticed he had scratches scattered across his forearms.

 

“Are you alright?” Clyde blurted out, then immediately felt stupid. Clearly he wasn’t alright.

 

Stensland opened his mouth like he was about to answer but then stopped and looked down at himself. His face twisted again. He trudged over to the couch and sat heavily at the other end of it, realizing belatedly with a groan that he’d tracked mud across the floor.

 

Then, like a dam bursting, everything came out at once.

 

“It all started when I got to work, no one _told_ me we were starting casual Fridays and so I was the only one who showed up like this.” He motioned emphatically to his outfit. “And then I botched a big sale, one that would have gotten me a bonus for sure, and I was so worked up over it I missed my lunch break, and then an hour before close I got so lightheaded I had to go to the back and sit down sipping juice until I could go back out again. And _then_ on the way home I was so distracted I missed my stop and had to get off at the next one and walk twice as far, and just my luck that couple up the road who _don’t believe in leashes_ had their bloody _German Shepherd_ outside and it chased me through the yards…” he motioned to himself again, indicating the mud and ripped fabric and grass stains.

 

His tirade finished, silence fell heavily over the room.  Stensland looked down at his knees, bottom lip trembling. Clyde wanted to reach out and gather him up like he had last night, but now in the light of day it didn’t seem like such a good idea. Instead he waited a moment, making sure Stensland was finished, before asking, “You sure you’re alright? The dog didn’t get ya’, did it?”

 

“No,” Stensland sighed. “Barely. It was more of a challenge than running from a middle-aged lawyer, I’ll tell you that.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing. Nevermind. A story for another day.”

 

Then Stensland looked around expectantly for a moment. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it, because he seemed to deflate even more. “Oh, shit, and I forgot to text you my carryout order didn’t I? Can’t do a damn thing right. I – “

 

“Actually,” Clyde interrupted before Stensland could beat himself up any further. “I thought maybe…if you’re feelin’ up to it…we could go out somewhere? My treat? Everything we had this week was great,” he added quickly before Stensland could get it into his head that Clyde didn’t like his suggestions. To the contrary; eating large portions of unhealthy food made him feel just that little bit more at home. “I just thought it could be my way of thankin’ you for…well, everything.”

 

Stensland stared at him, that lip still trembling and eyes wide and shining. “You’d do – you want to – you don’t have to, you know,” he said. “It was really nothing. If anything, you did me a favor staying here.”

 

Clyde’s brow furrowed. “How’s that?”

 

“…nevermind. I – “ whatever he was going to say was cut off by the loud grumble of his stomach. He quickly put his hands over it, face flushing with embarrassment. It was then Clyde remembered what he’d said about missing his lunch break. He shifted closer to Stensland on the couch and put a hand tentatively on his back.

“We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay here if you want. But you need to eat something.”

He could have imagined it, but Clyde could have sworn he felt Stensland lean into his touch, just a little.

“Dinner out does sound nice,” he said, still a bit sullen. “Though a nice dinner would be wasted on me. You don't have to - “

“I want to,” Clyde insisted.

Stensland looked at him again and Clyde held his gaze. People often backed down from eye contact with Clyde; Mellie said it was because he could be intimidating, but he didn't know he was doing that and so he didn't know how to stop. Stensland, though...Stensland kept his eyes locked on him, searching. After a moment he relaxed a little and nodded.

“Is it alright if I get cleaned up first?” He looked down at himself with a little nose-crinkle of disgust that Clyde found so cute it took him a moment to mumble out an answer.

“‘Course you can.”

Stensland gave him a grateful, if still a bit wobbly, smile and then stood carefully and disappeared into the bathroom.

After a good ten minutes of him shuffling around in there, he reemerged looking worlds better than he had before. More than better, he looked...really good.

Stensland had changed into a blue button-up that made his pale skin seem paler and his bright hair brighter, and faded gray jeans that accentuated his lean waist and hips. He'd washed his face and combed his hair a bit but it remained so soft-looking, _all_ of him looked so soft and gentle that it made something in Clyde's chest hurt.

Clyde looked down at his own outfit of cargo shorts and a t-shirt and half considered running off to a store to get something more appropriate. He didn't even know where they were _going_ yet but next to Stensland he felt horribly underdressed.

“You look just fine,” Stensland said, making Clyde jerk his head up in surprise just in time to see Stensland's eyes skimming over him. His tongue swept over his lips briefly before he realized he was being watched and quickly pressed his lips together. There was still something fragile about him, like he thought Clyde might change his mind.

“Are you sure?” Clyde asked, face flushing.

“I'm positive. Unless you plan on taking us to a five-star restaurant, no one around here dresses up for dinner anymore. If anything I'm _over_ dressed, maybe I should change - “

“No,” Clyde said quickly. “You look just fine, too.”

Stensland smiled for real at that.

“So. Where to?”

Clyde scratched at the back of his head. “I was hoping you'd know.”

*

Stensland led them to one of his favorite parts of town, a public market right along the shore. It was bustling with activity, vendors set up on either side of the brick road selling everything from ice cream to flowers to produce to souvenirs. There were stores, too, and a coffee shop every block, or so it seemed. It was a beautiful day turning into a beautiful evening and the restaurants all had outdoor seating set up, every table filled. Somewhere someone was playing a guitar, the gentle strumming a pleasant background noise to the chatter of the crowd.

Stensland didn't rush him; in fact, he seemed content to stroll along slowly and let Clyde take it all in. He cheerfully pointed out places they passed, only stopping when Clyde chimed in with the occasional question. Clyde kept close as they walked, equal parts fearful of getting separated in the crowd and wanting to be able to hear what Stensland was saying over the noise.

One row of tables had buckets full of freshly cut flowers, filling the air with a sweet smell. Clyde stopped by one filled with sunflowers and ran his fingers along the petals. He looked up at Stensland, who had stopped too and was watching him, and Clyde had the sudden, crazy thought that he was a bit like one. Sometimes sunflowers stood with their heads all drooping down like they'd had a bad day and other times they stood tall and bright for the world to see.

“Those are my second favorite flower,” Stensland was saying, “after hydrangeas, of course.”

“Of course,” Clyde echoed. His hands began to move on auto pilot, reaching into his pocket to pull out some cash. Before he knew it, he was paying the vendor and plucking the biggest and fullest sunflower from the bucket and turning to hold it out to Stensland.

Stensland who…had suddenly gone very still and quiet. He would look like a statue if it weren't for the rapid flicking of his eyes from the flower to Clyde's face.

Clyde began to feel a flush rising on his cheeks and to the tips of his ears as he realized what he'd done. This was...silly, this was too much, this was the sort of thing that got him laughed at, called names…

The sunflower disappeared from his hands and Clyde half expected to see it knocked onto the pavement, but, but Stensland wouldn't _do_ something like that, he was pretty sure, even if he thought it was stupid, and -

“Thank you.”

The odd tone to Stensland's voice made Clyde finally look up.

Stensland hadn't tossed the flower aside. He was gripping the stem tight in both hands and had it held close to his chest. He still looked stunned.

“Thank you,” he said again, and the way he looked at Clyde just then…well, no one had ever looked at him like that before. Like he was the only thing they could see. Like he was worth seeing.

Clyde swallowed tightly and, not knowing what to say, he _never_ knew what to say, he smiled. He smiled a big as he could without showing his teeth, which he knew were crooked, had always been but his family could never afford braces. He supposed now he could afford them, but…then he’d be pouring drinks at the bar with a mouth full of metal and an arm made of metal and he didn’t think he needed to stand out any more than he already did.

Just then a big group walked by and bumped Stensland a little; he clutched the flower like a lifeline as he stumbled and Clyde stepped forward quickly to steady him with a hand on his back. The group passed, spaced cleared behind Stensland again, yet he didn’t move away.

They were standing so close now that Clyde could see all the different colors of Stensland’s eyes, could count every freckle if he wanted. He could feel Stensland’s shaky breaths against his cheek, could hear when he swallowed.

Stensland’s stomach chose that moment to growl again, _loudly_ , and he looked absolutely mortified. He stepped away quickly, flustered but still holding tightly to the flower.

“Sorry. Sorry, um, right, dinner. Unless you wanted to explore the market some more?”

“You need to eat,” Clyde insisted. His hand hadn’t left Stensland’s back and he used it to gently nudge him forward, and then kept it there as he followed, telling himself it was to keep them from getting separated, that was all.

Stensland led them toward a smaller street branching off from the main one. As they turned the corner, Clyde finally caught a glimpse of the person playing guitar, a skinny young man in tight jeans and a plaid shirt with a clear voice that carried over the crowd. Clyde stopped short when he caught what he was singing now.

_So kiss me and smile for me_

_Tell me that you'll wait for me_

_Hold me like you'll never let me go_

Clyde frowned, not unhappily, just thinking. He was struck then by the strangest realization that all of this, him being here, expanding his world outside of his little bar in his little town, and meeting Stensland in the process, that it came so close to never happening, or to happening very differently. Had he ignored Jimmy and Mellie pushing him to take a vacation, had his finger landed an inch or two to the right on that map, had he chosen a different coffee shop to stumble into…

So many of his days were passed in a hazy, half-present state, settled into the routine of his life, calm and comforting but always something missing. It felt like, just for a little while, that fog had been lifted and he could see clearly and breathe deeply.

For the first time he found himself wondering, if a curse could follow someone, could something good follow them too?

Clyde turned from the musician to Stensland, who had stopped too and was watching him.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”

Stensland reached a hand out to him. “Come on, it’s not much farther.” Clyde reached back automatically, realizing a moment too late he’d extended his prosthetic hand, but Stensland took it and tugged him forward just the same.

*

They spent two whole hours at the restaurant. It was what could only be called a _hole in the wall_ , tucked away where only people who already knew it was there could find it. It was run by an old Italian woman and her family, and the woman was apparently very fond of Stensland.

 

She pulled him into a crushing hug the moment she saw him while complaining loudly that it had been too long since he came by and asking when he was going to ask out her daughter. Stensland had returned the hug and reminded her that her daughter was married, which was met with a stream of some not-so-nice things about her daughter’s husband. When she finally stepped back and noticed Clyde standing there awkwardly she shot Stensland a knowing look and waved for them to follow her.

 

“She remembers being young and alone living in a new country, too,” Stensland explained once they’d been ushered to a table, a basket of fresh, warm bread set before them. “Well, maybe not alone, she had her family, but no less frightened for it. Anyway, I think she would have adopted me the day we met if I weren’t in my twenties. She’s been trying to set me up with her daughter for years, but we aren’t compatible in the slightest.”

 

The two hours that followed were a blur of some of the best food and company Clyde had had in a long time. Stensland carried the conversation most of the time and Clyde was happy to let him, enjoying the way Stensland embellished stories with commentary and expressions and such genuine emotion that Clyde felt like he was living them himself. He asked questions, too, about Clyde’s life and family, but never pushed if Clyde didn’t have much to say.

 

And the funny thing was, the more time went on, the more Clyde found that he _did_ have things to say. He told Stensland about some of his and Jimmy’s antics growing up, and about Mellie and her love of cars, and about how when he got the fancy new metal prosthetic he tried to convince Sadie he could shoot a laser from it like Iron Man, but she was just a little too grown up and clever to fall for that one.

 

At some point a glass of wine appeared in front of him and it never seemed to become empty. Clyde ate more than he thought possible and, unable to turn down the owner’s insistence they have dessert, somehow found room for a piece of cake. For how skinny he was, Stensland put back a respectable amount himself. By the time he paid the bill Clyde wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand, but when Stensland asked if he wanted to walk around for a bit and work off all that fettuccine, Clyde stood without a second thought.

 

After dinner they made their way down a walkway alongside the bay, passing piers and docks and shops and seafood restaurants. The evening was warm, if a little breezy, the light wind ruffling both their hair, making Clyde wish he’d brought something to tie his back with. Stensland kept reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes with one hand; the other still clutched the sunflower.

 

Looming just ahead was the large Ferris wheel Clyde had seen from a distance during his wandering over the past week. It had to be twice the size of anything the state fair ever had, and ten times as sturdy-looking.

 

“Want to go up?”

 

Clyde turned his head sharply to find Stensland staring at him expectantly. At some point, Clyde realized, he’d stopped walking and just stood there staring at the Ferris wheel. He flushed at having been caught.

 

“Sorry. No, it’s - I’ve just never seen one that big. Have you been in it?”

 

Stensland sighed more deeply than Clyde would have expected given the nature of the question, looking longingly up at the gondolas as they made their rotation. “I haven’t. I was...when I first moved here, I was convinced I’d meet my soulmate here. So I waited. I thought I’d save going for a ride on it until I had the right _person_ to go with. Thought it’d make a lovely date. But...well, that never happened, and after a while I just sort of forgot about the whole idea.”

 

Clyde’s heart sank a little, first in empathy for Stensland’s less-than-successful love life, and then because he _did_ sort of want to go up in the Ferris wheel, even if it was silly and touristy, but if Stensland was saving it for a date, then…

 

“So. Want to go up?” Stensland repeated.

 

“What? But - “

 

“You’ve only got a day left after all! I’ll bet the view is magnificent.” There was that expectant look again.

 

“I - alright.” Clyde felt a little thrill and decided it had to be because he was about to go on the ride, not because Stensland seemed so eager to go with him.

 

Because this...this wasn’t a date. Right?  
  


Even though Clyde had bought Stensland a flower and dinner and even though Stensland had taken his hand to pull him into the restaurant and was walking up to a booth to buy two tickets to something he’d been waiting for the _right person_ to go with...

 

Almost immediately Clyde felt a heavy weight in his chest, like someone had just placed a huge stone there. He was being stupid. Stupid, simple Clyde Logan, thinking that someone showing him kindness meant something more than it did.

 

And then, then he asked himself the question he should have thought of first.

 

Why did it bother him so much that this _wasn’t_ a date? It wasn’t like he...he…

 

Oh.

 

It was so obvious all of a sudden that Clyde felt even stupider for not seeing it sooner. It had been so long since he felt this that he barely recognized it.

He wasn't just warmed by Stensland's kindness or intrigued by the novelty of...well, just about everything about him, though those were both still true. But, no, the way he wanted to be near him and touch him and make him laugh and smile...that was something else entirely. Even he, in his limited experience, knew that.

As they boarded a gondola and the wheel began to move slowly upwards, stopping occasionally to let more people on, Clyde sat across from Stensland feeling like his sudden epiphany must be written all over his face, but Stensland seemed none the wiser, peering in awe out the window at the city lights below, his fingers curled around the stem of his sunflower.

 

The heaviness lingered in Clyde’s chest, but now that he knew why it was there, he forced the feeling down with everything he had. Even if this didn’t go anywhere - which it _wouldn’t_ , he reminded himself - that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a good time.

 

Clyde turned in his seat to look out the window too. Their knees bumped and out of the corner of his eye Clyde could have sworn he felt Stensland’s gaze on him.

 

*

 

By the time they arrived back at Stensland’s apartment it was past eleven, early for Clyde but late for Stensland, who spent the whole walk home yawning big yawns he could barely cover with a hand over his mouth.

 

How it got so late so quickly, Clyde would never know. One minute he was being pulled eagerly into a restaurant, the next he was here, pleasantly worn out from an evening of the unexpected. Most unexpected of all was what he’d realized about how he felt. During the journey home he’d almost forgotten but now, away from the bustling city in the quiet of Stensland’s apartment, it felt as fresh and frightening as it had hours ago.

 

“I think I’m going to turn in,” Stensland said, yawning again as he stretched with his arms above his head, accentuating the tallness and leanness of him all at once, his shirt riding up just a little. Clyde swept his tongue over his lips.

 

Coming down from the big yawn, Stensland gave him a sleepy smile and then turned his attention to the couch that had been Clyde’s accomodation for the week. He frowned.

 

“That thing can’t be comfortable for one night, let alone...however many it’s been. Four? You’re on vacation. You should sleep on a real bed.”

 

Clyde was about to insist, again, that he didn’t need a hotel, that this was just fine, better than fine, wonderful…

 

“You should sleep in my bed tonight and tomorrow!”

 

Clyde nearly choked on the words he hadn’t quite had a chance to get out.

 

“What?” His mouth was hanging open. He clamped it shut.

 

“Sure, why not? I can sleep out here a couple of nights.”

 

Clyde deflated immediately, equal parts relieved and disappointed.

 

“I can’t kick you out of your own bed,” he argued. “I’ve been just fine on the couch.”

 

Stensland folded his arms, trying, it seemed, to look imposing but only managing to look a bit like a cat whose owner had picked it up against its will. “My house - well, my dumpy flat...my dumpy flat, my rules! You’ll sleep in the bed.”

 

“I won’t - “

 

Stensland peeked into his bedroom then looked Clyde up and down. He shifted awkwardly on his socked feet. “It’s a pretty big bed. First thing I bought with my employee discount.”

 

There was a long, heavy silence.

 

Then...

 

“We could share it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags added!! Including ptsd, mention of explosions/violence, nightmares, etc.
> 
> But also some fluffy tags too.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read/commented/kudosed/bookmarked so far!! <3

_His eyes are closed but it does little to block the brightness of the sun. He leans heavily against the window and keeps them shut anyway, not wanting to talk to anyone. The rumble of the transport vehicle is almost soothing. He clasps his hands together._

 

_Soon. That’s what he keeps thinking, though he doesn’t know whether it’s with excitement or dread. Maybe both._

 

_Soon he will be home. Soon he’ll see Jimmy and Mellie. Soon he’ll meet his baby niece. And soon...he doesn’t know what else. He doesn’t know what comes next._

 

_He tries not to think about it, tries to just enjoy the rare moment of peace and relative quiet. His cheek itches; he reaches up with his left hand to scratch it._

 

_One moment he’s lowering his hand back into his lap, the next the world erupts into chaos: a deafening noise, a flash of pain, everything sideways, everything blurry, then nothing -_

 

*

 

Clyde woke with a choked gasp. His eyes shot open and nothing, nothing was familiar, not the pillow beneath his head or the smell of the sheets or the sliver of yellow light from the street lamp outside peeking through the curtain.

 

He tried to bring his arm, his left arm, closer to his chest, to protect it from something he could never prevent, never undo, not even in dreams. But as he tried he closed it around something, pulled the something tight against himself. The something _yelped_ and he knew somehow that he should let go but he _couldn't_ so he just held on tighter. He trembled all over and couldn’t catch his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut again.

 

There was movement against him and he flinched, bracing himself though he didn’t know for what. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t focus enough beyond the sound of his own ragged breaths to make sense of their words, or of anything.

 

_“Clyde, breathe!”_

 

That he understood, so he tried to breathe. And then he felt them - hands smoothing the hair back from his face. They were cool and gentle and the only thing that felt _good_ and so he leaned towards them. They cupped his heated face. Someone kept telling him to _breathe_ and slowly his breaths evened out.

 

When he opened his eyes he was met with a pair of wide green ones staring back at him in the dim light.

 

Oh.

 

Right.

 

Clyde mumbled what he hoped was an apology and started to turn over, hoping he could get out of bed without tripping over his own feet and make it to the couch in the dark...

 

A pair of arms closed around his shoulders before he’d even rolled halfway and kept him there and Clyde obediently stopped trying to pull away. He turned his burning face into the pillows.

 

“Wait, _wait_ ,” Stensland whispered insistently. “Don’t go. You’re safe here.”

 

Clyde exhaled slowly and waited, waited for the questions that were sure to come. He couldn’t just wake in a panic and squeeze the breath out of someone in their own bed and not offer some sort of explanation or apology.

 

But all Stensland said was, “there now, see, you’re alright,” and then he didn’t say anything else, opting instead to make little shushing sounds and tug at Clyde’s shoulders. Clyde could do nothing else but let himself be pulled forward until his face was tucked in the crook of Stensland’s neck. His skin was cool and smooth and the fabric softener smell of his t-shirt was soothing.

 

Clyde sniffled against him, though he wasn’t crying. He _wished_ he could, yearned for the catharsis of a good long cry.

 

Stensland was rubbing his back, slow sweeps up and down. The movement, along with the gentle rise and fall of Stensland’s breathing, calmed him further until he felt the tension ease from his muscles. He closed his eyes.

 

Long minutes passed in silence. Clyde felt warm and heavy and slowly he began to drift off.

 

That was when he heard it: a song that was whispered more than sung, in a language he didn’t recognize. It soothed away the last of his fear and finally, sleep claimed him.

 

*

 

When Clyde woke, sunlight poured in long thin lines through the blinds. He was alone in the still-warm bed, sprawled across it, his legs tangled up in the sheets. He blinked slowly.

 

Slowly his sleep-muddled mind began to clear. He remembered where he was: not his own bed, but Stensland’s, in his apartment in Seattle. When he turned his face into the pillow he could faintly smell Stensland’s floral shampoo.

 

Then, with a cringe, he remembered waking in the middle of the night. He must have scared the everloving shit out of Stensland, and yet Stensland had let him stay and had even comforted him. Clyde lay there thinking about that for a while.

 

There were sounds from the kitchen, clicks and clangs and muttering. Clyde peered up at the clock by the bed; it was almost ten. He supposed he should get up. Even though Stensland had been so kind and understanding about so many things, he still dreaded facing him after last night. He dragged himself out of bed anyway.

 

The moment he stepped out of the room he was hit by a faint burning smell. Clyde meandered over to stand at the edge of the kitchenette and watched as Stensland added a new recruit to a pile of slightly singed pancakes; he frowned at the newest one and then sighed and reached over to the bowl of batter on the counter. Beside it was a smaller bowl of dark little round things; either blueberries or chocolate chips, Clyde couldn’t tell.

 

“Those look good,” Clyde commented quietly. Stensland’s head shot up, bug-eyed at having been caught.

 

“You’re up,” he said. Then, “of course you’re up. I hope I didn’t wake you with all this.” He motioned to the messy countertop. It was then that Clyde noticed the sunflower from last night, carefully placed into a tall glass full of water. “It’s the weekend, I thought pancakes would be a nice treat, um…”

 

“I love pancakes,” Clyde said. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Stensland’s eyes yet, focusing instead on the way he kept turning the spatula over and over in his hand.

 

“That’s...good. Great. Me too! They’re blueberry, if you were wondering.”

 

Clyde nodded. Stensland considered the stack again and then, apparently satisfied for the time being, shut the burner off and set the spatula down.

 

“M’sorry about last night,” Clyde blurted out before he could lose the nerve.

 

Immediately Stensland turned to look at him again. He looked surprised, but it quickly softened into something else.

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. “Does...does that happen often?”

 

Clyde shrugged. “Only sometimes.” He chewed on his lip. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

 

“What? No, of course not. You just sort of...hugged me really fast. I - it was - “ He exhaled sharply. “It’s fine. I promise.”

 

“That thing you were singin’...what was that?”

 

“That thing I was...oh! Oh, that’s some Irish folk tune my mum used to sing to me when I was little. Those always helped me fall asleep.” He smiled as he spoke but there was something sad and distant in his eyes at the memory.

 

“It’s real pretty,” Clyde said quickly, regretting asking, regretting making Stensland look that way. “What’s it about?”

 

“I can’t translate it or anything but, mum told me it’s from the point of view of someone who’s lover has gone far away.” He sighed deeply. “Even as a child it made something stir in my heart. Loving someone like that, that you feel all shattered inside when they leave.” His eyes shimmered.

 

Something ached in Clyde’s chest, the way it sometimes did when he saw couples at the bar or watched movies that ended in _happily ever after_. He’d gotten good at ignoring it. He’d never had someone like that and he doubted he ever would. He thought about last night, about dinner and the Ferris wheel, about arms around him and a soothing song in his ear...

 

Clyde shook his head sharply. There was no use being fanciful. It was his last day here and he wasn’t about to let it start on the wrong foot.

 

“So,” he said, “how many pancakes can I have?”

 

The mournful look was gone from Stensland’s face in an instant, replaced by a bright little smile. “As many as you want! There’s eight there and I made too much batter so I can always make more. And I got whipped cream! Eat up!” He grabbed a plate, knife and fork from the drying rack and held them out eagerly to Clyde.

 

Six pancakes, two cups of coffee and a greek yogurt later and Clyde was full and happy. He’d been full and happy a lot this week. He supposed that made for a successful vacation.

 

Stensland wiped his mouth with a napkin and then cleared his throat.

 

“I’m off today.” He looked pointedly at Clyde but Clyde wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

 

“I was thinking,” Stensland continued, “that I could show you around. I mean, if there’s anywhere you haven’t been. Or any last thing you wanted to do.”

 

“You mean it?” Clyde asked. “You don’t have better things to be doin’?”

 

“Nothing that can’t wait. And - and I thought it might be nice. We’ve had a nice time. I think? I have. Anyway, and then you’d have a guide and such. I did a lot of exploring when I first moved here and I like to think I know the ins and outs pretty well. What do you say?”

 

He tilted his chin up confidently, but as he awaited Clyde’s answer there was that vulnerability in his eyes again. He really meant it, Clyde realized. Stensland _wanted_ to spend the day with him.

 

Clyde quickly found his face flushing and his traitorous mind whispering the word _date_ , as it had last night. He ducked his head and frowned deeply as he shook the thought away. Stensland was just being a good host, that was all. They were, at best, becoming friends, and that was alright too. More than alright.

 

When he looked up again Stensland had gone from looking mildly unsure to crushed.

 

“Was it _that_ bad an idea?”

 

“What?”

 

“You just - you look upset - “

 

Clyde cursed himself internally and tried to relax his face. Mellie did often say he always looked so serious.

 

“Sorry, I was just...nevermind. That sounds really nice.”

 

“Are you sure? Because you don’t have to - “

 

“I’d love that. I really would.” Clyde tried to hold his gaze. “On one condition.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You let me buy you lunch?”

 

*

 

“ - so then, _then_ the woman tells me, ‘of course the loveseat isn’t for _me_ , it’s for my poodle’! As if I was supposed to know!”

 

Clyde was _giggling_. He couldn’t recall the last time he laughed this way, bubbling out from his chest, making him feel all giddy. They had finished lunch and were walking in a park, enjoying the weather and sharing work stories.

 

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Stensland said indignantly, though there was a smile playing on his lips. “I thought I was going to lose that sale for sure.”

 

“But you didn’t?”

 

“But I _didn’t_. We had a lovely piece at the time that suited her expensive tastes, easy to clean as well. She even sent the store a photo of her poodle sprawled across it.”

 

“Do you like dogs?”

 

“I love all creatures great and small, but I happen to be a cat person.”

 

Clyde smiled. “We had a cat growin’ up. Took care of the rats in the shed. Our daddy didn’t want it in the house but some nights I’d leave the window open just enough for it to slip in and it would sleep next to me. Me and Jimmy shared a room and I know he knew about it but he never told a soul.”

 

Stensland was looking at him oddly, his gaze soft and mouth parted a little. It was overcast but bright and Stensland’s eyes looked so clear, the cool olive color of them reminding Clyde of the lakes back home. “That’s possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

Clyde’s cheeks heated and he ducked his head. He didn’t know what to say to that.

 

As they walked they seemed to gravitate towards one another until their shoulders were nearly touching. Clyde was relieved it was his right side, he didn’t want to be bumping Stensland with the metal arm the whole time.

 

He flexed the fingers of his right hand out of habit, a little reminder to himself that _that one_ was, at least, still there, and as he did, his hand brushed the back of Stensland’s and then stayed there.

 

They kept walking but both gradually slowed. The contact hadn’t broken yet, and Clyde...Clyde didn’t want it to…

 

Clyde tilted his hand so that his fingers brushed along the side of Stensland’s. Still, neither of them pulled away. Stensland had gone very quiet and wasn’t quite looking at him.

 

In a moment of the sort of brave stupidity he usually left to his siblings, Clyde took a breath and on the exhale he slid his hand down to twine his fingers loosely with Stensland’s. He was pretty sure neither of them was breathing. They stopped walking entirely and Stensland’s stunned gaze drifted down to their hands.

 

For just a second Stensland’s fingers tightened around his and Clyde felt the rare sensation of having done something _right_ for a change.

 

Then the hand pulled away from his and his felt cold, so cold all of a sudden. His chest felt tight and his ears were hot and he...he was so, so _stupid_. He opened his mouth to try to piece together some sort of explanation, apology, something to salvage the rest of their day together, but Stensland spoke first.

 

“I won’t - I can’t - It’s not that I - “ he made a distressed sound and shook his head. “I won’t be something you decided might be _fun_ on your vacation! No matter what happens, no matter how much I like you, you’re going to leave and then where does that leave me, hmm? I can’t be a one night stand. I can’t...I can’t do that again…”

 

He trailed off in his ramble, his jaw set and fists clenched but he was trembling and none of the determination of his words showed on his face, blinking rapidly, fearful.

 

Clyde stared at the ground, face uncomfortably warm with embarrassment, his hand clutched to his chest as if he’d been burned. Everything was going so well, why did he have to...have to ruin it, like he did everything…

 

Maybe he really was cursed.

 

It took a few long moments of terrible silence for all of Stensland’s words to sink in. Through the thick haze of shame, a few things stood out.

 

_No matter how much I like you._

 

_I can’t be a one night stand._

 

_I can’t do that again._

 

Clyde blinked as his muddled thoughts cleared and he lifted his head, mustering all his courage to make eye contact with Stensland, who looked about as miserable as Clyde felt.

 

“That’s not what I want either,” Clyde said, barely above a whisper. “I really like you and I just wanted to hold your hand. But I realize now it was inappropriate, and I apologize.”

 

Stensland looked at him as though he had grown an extra head. “You...so you don't…”

 

Stensland looked so surprised and Clyde wanted to find whoever had apparently used Stensland in such a way and run them over with his truck.

 

“You...you don’t want to sleep with me?”

 

Clyde was certain if his face got any hotter he’d burst into flames.

 

“I don’t _not_ want to,” he mumbled. “But that was not my intention.”

 

“You just...wanted to hold my hand?”

 

“Yes. Clearly I misread the situation, and I’m sorry.”

 

Stensland was blinking rapidly, eyes shining. He stared at Clyde like that, bewildered, and then he took a long, deep breath and his face took on something like determination.

 

“No. No, I’m sorry. I overreacted. It’s just...been a rough year.” He stuck his hand out. His jaw remained set with determination but his eyes were questioning. _Am I too late?_

 

Clyde felt relief wash over him like a cool breeze on a hot day. He reached out and slipped his hand into Stensland’s and their fingers curled together automatically, settling perfectly into place like they belong locked together like that.

 

Slowly they continued walking, staying close so their hands didn’t didn’t pull apart. Clyde felt a bit like he had after they got the money from the heist: he had what he wanted, now he didn’t know what to do with it.

 

And he had questions, but he wasn’t sure if they were welcome.

 

In another moment of stupid bravery, he asked anyway. “Do you want to talk about it? Your...rough year?” A pause. “You don’t have to, of course. We can go back to talkin’ about work. I can tell you about the lady who comes in and knits while sippin’ martinis.”

 

A smile flickered across Stensland’s face and he squeezed Clyde’s hand. “Could I? Talk about it? I haven’t really had anyone to...other than Lyle, but he’s busy and no help, and the girls at the bar but that’s more of a mutual exchange of grousing…”

 

“Sure you can,” Clyde said.

 

They stopped walking and dropped into a bench. Stensland kept a tight grip on Clyde’s hand like he was using it to ground himself, and he began to talk.

 

He told this story differently than he had others, less wistful and more matter-of-fact, even a little bitter.

 

“...and now Morgan and Grady are trying to work it out, the thing with Hannah never went anywhere, all my friends are too busy with their infinitely more successful love lives to spend much time with me, and all I’ve got is the furniture store and - and that’s about it. And it’s...it’s very…”

 

“Lonely,” Clyde finished for him quietly. He knew what Stensland was describing all too well: coming off of a rush of lots happening at once only to find yourself lost and alone.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Clyde didn’t know what else to say, how to convey his anger at the people who had hurt Stensland or his understanding of how he felt. He didn’t know how to even begin to comfort him.

 

Stensland had run out of words too, but he seemed lighter from shedding all that he’d been carrying. His other hand came up to hold onto Clyde’s arm, curling around his bicep, and he shifted until his head settled on Clyde’s shoulder. Clyde felt his soft hair brush the side of his jaw and neck. Slowly, carefully he settled his cheek against the top of Stensland’s head.

 

They sat together like that for a long time.

 

*

 

Clyde didn’t care to do more exploring that day. What he really wanted was to spend time with Stensland while he still could, but even after holding hands and sitting pressed side to side on a bench he didn’t know how to _say_ that was what he wanted, so instead he said he was tired from all the walking. They headed back to the apartment early.

 

They ordered takeout and picked up where they left off on season one of Dawson’s Creek.

 

Clyde was the type to get attached to characters easily. When he first came home, after losing the arm and before getting the bar, he passed a lot of time watching daytime soaps with Mellie and always found himself drawn into the dramatic stories. This show, Stensland’s favorite it seemed, was no exception. Clyde found himself wishing he was here more than a week so they could keep watching it, and for so many other reasons.

 

They sat close together on the couch, but other than the occasional brush of fingers or bump of shoulders they didn’t go out of their way to touch one another. They were both cautious, as if afraid that if they put too much weight on this fragile new thing it might collapse.

 

But as they relaxed back against the couch cushions, full and content, Clyde on his third drink and Stensland still sipping at the last of his first, it became easier to ignore that they were slumping into one another, pressed together side-to-side, Stensland’s hand flopped against Clyde’s thigh, Clyde’s head tipped once again to the side with his cheek against Stensland’s soft hair.

 

Somewhere midway through his fourth drink and the second-to-last episode of the season, Clyde removed the prosthetic. Seeing the slight redness of the skin underneath, Stensland didn’t hesitate to take Clyde’s arm in his cool hands and soothe over the sore areas with that same cream from the other day. Clyde was going to have to find himself some of that stuff, if only because the smell would forever remind him of Stensland. He watched him work, gentle and unbothered by the task.

 

Clyde wanted to feel those hands...anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. Well, maybe not everywhere _yet_ , but. Someday. Hopefully.

 

For now, he settled for this. “That feels real good,” he mumbled, and Stensland smiled.

 

“You’re missing the episode.” He didn’t seem to mind much.

 

“Sorry. I just like watching you,” Clyde admitted.

 

Stensland paused and stared up at him, lips pursed. “You really are absurdly sweet, you know that? Are you _sure_ you aren’t taken?”

 

Clyde felt his lips pull up at the corners without him even trying. “Positive. My bed’s not very big. I'd know if I was sharing it with someone.”

 

Stensland beamed. “Sounds like you need a bigger bed.” He blinked and then immediately looked flustered. Clyde marveled at how quickly he could jump from one emotion to the next. “I didn't mean - that was a furniture salesman joke, not...not me trying to say you should share your bed with someone - “

 

“Maybe I'd like to,” Clyde said quietly. “One day.”

 

Stensland's hands stopped in their slow, soothing motions over his arm. He looked up at Clyde, half-suspicious half-hopeful. Then his smile returned and he nodded as if deciding something for himself. “Well. Then if you need that bigger bed I happen to know a _phenomenal_ salesman.” He paused and then frowned. “His name is Dale and he’s got to be cheating somehow.”

 

Clyde laughed and slumped back against the couch, feeling all warm inside.

 

*

 

Later that night, their dishes piled into the sink and the TV still glowing faintly, Clyde and Stensland took turns getting ready for bed. When Clyde emerged from the bathroom Stensland was waiting in the doorway to his bedroom, yawning and wearing an oversized t-shirt and boxer shorts and looking so soft it made Clyde’s chest ache. When he motioned with a nod of his head to the waiting bed, a questioning look in his eyes, Clyde didn’t hesitate to walk over and follow him into the room.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Clyde asked into the darkness a few minutes later. They were curled up under just a sheet, still fully clothed, Clyde’s face tucked against Stensland’s neck, arm slung over his waist, while Stensland played with the ends of his hair. “I could have another nightmare…”

 

“Then it’s better that you’re here, isn’t it? I can help.” A pause. “Did I?”  
  


“Hm?”

 

“Did I help, last night when I held you like this?”

 

“Mmhmm.” Clyde yawned and curled in closer. “‘Specially the singing.”

 

“Oh.” Stensland sounded genuinely surprised.

 

Clyde swallowed. “Could you do that again?”

 

Stensland shifted to get more comfortable and looped his arms around Clyde’s shoulders, holding him like he’d done the night before. Clyde felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry build up in his chest. He hadn’t been able to really appreciate this last night, too shaken by the memories that still plagued his dreams. But now this - being _held_ \- was all he could focus on and...and he didn’t know how he was going to be able to get on a plane tomorrow morning and let it take him away from this before it had even really begun.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Stensland cleared his throat and began to sing quietly. His voice trembled a little. It was the same song, the Irish one about separated lovers...

 

His eyes drifted shut and the last things he felt before he fell asleep were a tear slipping down his cheek and a kiss being pressed to the top of his head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Things happen!!
> 
>  
> 
> Also I totally forgot in the last chapter...the song that Stens sings is [Mo Ghille Mear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxjvNUNXhkU). It's super pretty ^_^

This time when Clyde woke he wasn’t alone.

 

He'd sprawled across the bed on his stomach, as he often did at home, only the soft thing his head was pillowed on wasn't a pillow, it was a stomach covered in a threadbare t-shirt, gently rising and falling with slow, even breaths, and instead of gusts from the fan sweeping his hair aside it was fingers, gentle and rhythmic as they pet him.

 

When he shifted and yawned, they stilled.

 

“Clyde?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

A little laugh. “Good morning.”

 

“Whas’ that sound?”

 

“That's your alarm. You have to go to the airport.” Stensland said it almost mechanically but there was a slight tremble in his voice.

 

“Mm. Don't want to.” Clyde grumbled and buried his face back into Stensland's stomach. It vibrated beneath his cheek as Stensland laughed again.

 

“I don’t want you to go either.” That time the tremble was unmistakable and the fingers in his hair tightened for a moment. Clyde squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he had more time, but the insistent chime of the alarm was a cruel reminder that was not the case.

 

Slowly, reluctantly, Stensland began to pull away. First his hands disappeared from Clyde’s hair then his warm, soft body slipped out from underneath him. The alarm went abruptly silent. “Snoozed it. I’ll go scrounge up some snacks for you to take,” Stensland said quietly and then his voice was gone too as he walked sleepily into the kitchen. Clyde was left sprawled in the warm spot where Stensland had been.

 

The only thing that made him get up when all he wanted to do was stay there forever was knowing that these were his last few stolen moments with this man he’d never planned to meet but had grown so, so attached to in so short a time.

 

He changed into his cargo shorts and the last clean t-shirt he had left and trudged out to the kitchen where he dropped into a chair. Stensland was fluttering about, opening cabinets and tossing things into a Ziploc. He didn’t acknowledge Clyde, and the longer Clyde sat there the more the silence and the way Stensland wouldn’t meet his eyes felt deliberate.

 

“I don’t want to go,” Clyde repeated.

 

Stensland froze mid-movement and turned to look at him. He wore that deep frown he sometimes had, the one that was almost a pout, and Clyde wanted to kiss it away but even if he managed to find the courage, he didn’t have the _time_.

 

“But you have to,” Stensland said shortly, looking down at the bag in his hands. “And then what?”

 

“We could keep in touch,” Clyde suggested feebly. He knew guys in the army who’d had sweethearts back home. Some had lasted, other’s hadn’t, but Clyde tried to focus on the ones that did, because that meant it was possible.

 

“What, like, pen-pals?” Stensland was looking skeptically at an overripe pear he’d plucked from a bowl on the counter.

 

“Like...calling and texting and writing. I could get that...Skype thing people use.” Clyde paused. “And I could come back and visit. Or you could visit me. If you want.”

 

Finally, Stensland looked at him.

 

“You want all that? Really?”

 

“Yes.” Clyde swallowed and pulled together every bit of resolve he could, mustering up the same _do it now or not at all_ motivation that had given him the push to hit the gas and drive a car through the front of a convenience store. “I really like you.”

 

Stensland almost dropped the pear. Several things passed across his face in the span of a few seconds before he seemed to settle on tentative hope.

 

“I really like you too. A _lot_. Not to sound overly eager or anything, I just - well, it’s true.”

 

Clyde’s heart was thudding so hard, harder than it had even during the heist. The rush and the nerves of that day were nothing compared to what he felt now at...at being _wanted_.

 

He was fidgeting and he knew it but he couldn’t stop. He also couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading across his face, scrunching up his eyes and revealing his crooked teeth but he didn’t care one bit because Stensland was smiling back and it felt so _good_.

 

And so of course, with his typical Logan luck, it was then the alarm chose to go off again, the chime growing louder and louder from the other room. Their faces both fell immediately. Stensland dropped the pear back into its bowl.

 

“I’ll get that. You should finish getting ready.”

 

*

 

Stensland accompanied him on the train to the airport. He’d claimed he was off that day, but from the bathroom Clyde had heard him calling in “sick” and was too touched by the gesture, and too unwilling to say goodbye just yet, to try to convince him he didn’t have to do that.

 

They sat close, Clyde’s prosthetic hand brushing Stensland’s real one until finally Stensland made the first move and took it in his. Clyde wished more than ever that he could feel with it but it was more than enough to see the way Stensland’s thumb stroked over the cool metal.

 

“I have something for you,” Stensland announced when they were only a few stops away. His hand left Clyde’s and he bent down to rummage through the worn brown leather bag he sometimes carried with him where it was wedged between his feet on the floor.

 

When he sat back up he was holding a bottle. Clyde recognized it immediately as the same kind of cream Stensland had used on his arm, only this one was brand new. Stensland held it out to him and Clyde’s throat began to feel tight.

 

“You seemed to like it so I thought you might want your own,” Stensland said.

 

Clyde took the bottle from him and looked him in the eye. “Thank you." He felt a little pang of guilt; he hadn't gotten Stensland anything, or done anything more to thank him than buying dinner. He should have - should have gotten him a gift, or _something_ , but it was too late now…

 

“Thank you for everything,” he said, voice thick. “I had a really nice time.”

 

“Staying on my couch instead of at a swanky hotel?” Stensland joked.

 

Clyde looked him in the eye. “Yes. I consider myself very lucky to have met you.”

 

Stensland was smiling, though his eyes looked watery. Clyde hoped he wouldn’t cry. It was hard enough to see him cry the night they listened to records together; it would be so much harder now, when Clyde couldn’t stay and hold him.

 

“I like the way you talk,” Stensland said. “And...I like that you’re honest. That’s become very important to me lately. And I like - “

 

Before Stensland could finish his thought, the train screeched to a halt, the automated voice overhead announcing the stop for the airport. They had to stand and shuffle off, Clyde slinging his backpack over his shoulders and following close to Stensland.

 

The security checkpoint was already bustling with morning travelers. Clyde and Stensland stood back from the fray, beside an unoccupied ticketing counter, both looking down, neither quite able to meet the other’s gaze.

 

“You’ll - you’ll text me when you land, right?” Stensland asked.  
  


“I will. I promise.” Clyde caved and looked at him first. Stensland looked the way Clyde felt: tired, sad, but fighting to keep it together. His trembling lip and rapidly blinking eyes gave him away, though, and again Clyde found himself hoping Stensland didn’t cry, because...because how the _hell_ was he supposed to leave if that happened?

 

“You should - you should go, that looks like a long line and you don’t want to...miss your flight…”

 

Clyde did want that, very much. More than he wanted to admit. But...but Mellie was going to be waiting to pick him up, and she was so excited to show him the new seats she got in her car, and Sadie had a pageant next weekend, and Jimmy would be stopping by the bar on his day off sometime next week to see how Clyde’s trip went...

 

He had things to get back to, people waiting for him, he realized. Life back home had never seemed interesting or important until he thought, however briefly, about _not_ going back.

 

And what he had was more than Stensland seemed to have, with no family left and friends who didn’t show up to things. Yet here he was, still willing to help out a stranger, to give new people a chance. To let someone hold his hand when the last person to do so hurt him so badly.

 

Clyde thought of the words he’d seen in the bathroom each day as he got ready, written on the wall beside Stensland’s mirror. He didn’t have it written down like that, but Clyde had similar things, little phrases he repeated to himself just to get up and get through the day. Clyde knew better than most people how hard that could be. And Stensland did it all by himself.

 

From the moment they met there had been something about him, something Clyde liked. He didn’t know what at the time, but now he did. It was that resilience, that way he bounced back and kept trying and smiled through things. It made Clyde feel like he could be like that too.

 

And he wasn’t about to lose that.

 

“I will see you again,” Clyde said resolutely. He gripped one of Stensland’s bony shoulders gently. “I know it.”

 

Stensland gave him a wobbly smile. “I hope so.” His lips remained parted like he wanted to say something more but then he shook his head and took Clyde’s hand in his, lowering it from his shoulder but keeping his hold on it. “You need to go…”

 

Clyde nodded slowly. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Some big moment or a declaration of some sort? This wasn’t one of Mellie’s soaps. He was...he was going to turn and go get in line for security and that was it. And that was fine. Really.

 

“Thank you again,” he said and tried for a smile, only half succeeding but at least it made Stensland smile a little in return. Then he turned and started to head for the line.

 

He'd only just made it there when a distant hiccuping sound made him freeze in his tracks. It stopped as soon as he did, but it was too late, he’d heard it and he knew exactly where it came from.

 

Clyde whirled around.

 

Sure enough, all the false calm had slipped from Stensland’s face, leaving only misery. Fat tears slid down his flushed cheeks and his lip quivered with his final valiant attempt to keep himself together while the occasional sharp sob shook his whole frame. He wasn't looking at Clyde but down at his shoes, deliberately, like he was forcing himself _not_ to look.

 

Clyde's other thoughts and concerns faded away to nothing. The only thing that mattered was getting to Stensland.

 

“‘scuse me...pardon me, ma'am…” Quickly but carefully as he could Clyde shouldered his way through the queue of people that had rapidly formed behind him. One lucky thing about his size was that people tended to get out of his way.

 

Clyde Logan had never been one for risks, at least, not since he came home. With the notable exception of his brother's cauliflower schemes. But . . .

 

Clear of the line, he crossed the remaining distance to Stensland in a few long strides. Stensland barely had a moment to register the body suddenly in front of him, his head jerking up and eyes going wide, mouth falling open to speak but all that came out was a hitched gasp as Clyde wrapped him in a crushing embrace.

 

For a moment neither of them moved, Stensland because he practically couldn't, held tight to Clyde's chest as he was, and Clyde because he didn't want to let go.

 

He did, after a moment, loosen his grip just enough that Stensland could breathe more easily and squirm his arms out enough to wrap around Clyde in return as he pressed his tear-stained face into Clyde's neck. It seemed Clyde had startled the sobs right out of him; Stensland only breathed shakily as he clung around Clyde's waist.

 

“Now you listen here,” Clyde said firmly but gently. “I said I would keep in touch. I said I'd see you again. If I'm one thing, I'm a man of my word. So...so no cryin’, you hear?”

 

Clyde's voice broke a little on the last few words and he could feel the telltale sting of tears in his own eyes. The words didn’t feel like enough, didn't come close to showing all he was feeling inside. He squeezed Stensland a little tighter.

 

“I can't help it,” Stensland argued weakly. “I'm a crier, I've always been one. I cry at _commercials_ , how could I not be emotional now?”

 

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Clyde before he could help it. He pulled back a little to see Stensland, who was looking up at Clyde in a way no one ever had.

 

Clyde knew what happened next. He only had to find the courage to do it.

 

Before he could second guess himself, he cupped Stensland's face with his hand, absently noting how perfectly the curve of his jaw fit against his palm. And then Clyde squeezed his eyes shut, leaned in, and kissed him right on the mouth.

 

Well. Maybe not right on the mouth. The angle was a little off and Clyde was putting too much pressure, his nose smushed against Stensland’s cheek, and he didn’t know what to do with his prosthetic hand so he just settled it against Stensland’s hip. He was doing this all wrong, he just knew it. But he’d done it, and that was that.

 

He finally pulled back and Stensland took a shuddering breath, red-rimmed eyes blinking rapidly. Clyde kept his hand to Stensland face, alarmed to see more tears slipping down his cheeks. Had he gotten it that wrong? Had he only upset Stensland more?

 

“Now I thought I said no more cryin’,” he said with a bravery he didn't feel as he brushed the tears away gently with his knuckles. “Or am I gonna have to kiss you aga - “

 

Clyde didn't even have a chance to finish the sentence before he found the front of his shirt balled up in two fists in a surprisingly tight grip.

 

Then he was being pulled in for another kiss. This one was infinitely better; still a little crooked, a little sloppy, but less forceful and more...soft. So soft, Stensland’s lips against his and his hair where the tips of Clyde’s fingers brushed it and the little sigh he made. It made Clyde’s chest ache. He wanted to curl around this man and never let anything or anyone hurt him ever again.

 

Alright...maybe it was a _bit_ like one of Mellie’s soaps.

 

Finally Stensland pulled away so they both could breathe, but he didn’t go far. He flung his arms around Clyde’s waist and held on tight. Clyde was glad he didn't seem keen on saying anything; he wasn't sure he could make his mouth form words with the tingle of that kiss lingering on his lips.

 

They held each other for several long minutes, neither one willing to let go. Clyde closed his eyes and tried to memorize the feeling, to hold it in his heart so he could recall it later when he was lonely and far away.

 

“Do you feel better?” He finally asked.

 

“Depends. If I say no will you keep holding me?”

 

Clyde squeezed him a little. “Maybe.”

 

Stensland sniffled. “You do have to go home, though.” He pulled back a little and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Clyde gave him a little space but even then he kept a hand on Stensland’s shoulder, unable to pull away completely.

 

“I’ll see you again,” Clyde said.

 

Stensland held his gaze and nodded, already mustering up some of that resilience that Clyde admired in him so much. Then he smiled through his tears, and somehow Clyde knew everything was going to be okay.

 

And so he didn’t say goodbye. He simply kissed Stensland on the cheek and said,

 

“Seeya.”

 

The last thing he saw before he turned to get back in line was Stensland’s smile.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <_____< Soooo you may have noticed a change in the chapter count.
> 
> This was originally intended as the final chapter, it was done and all ready to go.
> 
> And then I started getting so many wonderful comments and I was feeling inspired, so.
> 
> The good news: there's an epilogue!!
> 
> The bad news: It might not go up until sometime next week as I'll be away this weekend ^^;;
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for everything so far~ Your response has been so lovely. ;-; <3
> 
> *

_You can do this. Remember: you are a condor. Fearless and regal in the face of difficulty_.

 

Stensland’s internal monologue was at odds with what he knew must have been an embarrassingly blotchy face and watery eyes. Still, he managed to hold it together the whole ride home. It wasn’t until the door to his apartment shut behind him that he allowed himself to break down.

 

Even then, it wasn’t immediate. He felt like he was in a daze, waking up from a strange dream and questioning what was real and what wasn’t.

 

But Clyde had been so very real, and the signs of his presence were everywhere. The slight dip in his side of the couch. ( _Barely a week and you’re calling it his side? Bit clingy of you, Stens.)_ Their dishes still in the sink, Clyde’s beer bottles lined up along the counter waiting to be recycled.

 

The - the sunflower Clyde gave him in the glass where Stens had put it. It was starting to droop a little.

 

That was what made Stensland lose it.

 

His eyes filled with tears so quickly he stumbled on his way to the couch where he plopped down and began to openly sob. He believed Clyde - sweet, honest Clyde - when he said he’d keep in touch, even visit again, but that didn’t make it hurt any less that he wasn’t here. Especially when they only just discovered this connection they had.

 

As his crying began to die down he reached blindly with one hand for what he thought was a dish towel tossed across the back of the couch. He didn’t feel like getting up for a tissue or a napkin, so, he’d take what he could get.

 

But when he grasped it it was immediately clear this was not a towel. It was too soft, the material much more like a - a -

 

Stensland held it up and, sure enough, it was a worn t-shirt, probably black at one point but so faded it was more of a dark gray and the white type of the Jack Daniel's logo faded almost beyond recognition. Not just any old t-shirt, but Clyde's.

 

That got the waterworks going all over again. It took all of Stensland's self control not to smush his damp face into it. Sobbing anew, he got up and found a napkin from one of their carryout orders. He dabbed at his eyes with it and blew his nose into it and only when he'd cleared most of the tears and snot away did he hold the t-shirt to his face and breathe in, the lingering, subtly masculine scent on it so nice it made his head spin.

 

He hugged the shirt to his chest, still sniffling. After twenty seconds of internal debate, he decided he'd tell Clyde he left the shirt here, but politely ask - _not beg, don't get desperate, you know how that always goes_ \- if he could keep it.

 

But since, for the meantime, it was here with him…

 

Stensland slipped off the shirt he was wearing and pulled on the t-shirt. It was delightfully oversized on him and for a moment he could feel a fresh round of tears beginning to well up at the memory of Clyde’s big, warm body pressed against his when they hugged.

 

He took a sharp breath in and tipped his head back to keep the tears at bay.

 

“Enough of that,” he said aloud. “You have a day off. Make the best of it. Clean up a bit, or go out, anything!”

 

He spent the next hour watching from where they’d left off in Dawson’s Creek and eating ice cream out of the carton while valiantly trying not to cry again.

 

When the ice cream was all gone he slumped to one side and yelped indignantly when something jabbed into his hip.

 

He squirmed around until he could reach into his pocket - it was his phone, forgotten there since this morning. It wasn’t as though he got many notifications that weren’t email offers or weather alerts.

 

He had 19 texts.

 

All from Clyde Logan.

 

For all that he was a man of few words, Stensland could tell from the moment they met that he was the sort of man who _thought_ a lot. He was always looking around, taking things in, deep in thought. Unlike Stensland, he kept those thoughts to himself for the most part. But without the timidity that face-to-face conversation seemed to bring him, he was surprisingly talkative.

 

[7:17 am] _There’s a man here with red hair. Some sort of computer guy. Sort of looks like you._

 

[7:20 am] _Except it's not like yours at all, it’s it’s longer and darker._

 

[7:22 am] _And his eyes are blue not green_.

 

[7:24 am] _Nevermind. Got closer. He looks nothing like you._

 

[7:30 am] _There are three coffee shops just in this terminal. I have no idea which one to go to let alone what to order._

 

[7:31 am] _Wish you were here to help._

 

[7:35 am] _Got something called a macchiato. Glad this phone has autocorrect, I would not have expected it’s spelled that way._

 

[7:37 am] _It’s good._

 

[7:41 am] _Thank you for the snacks. That was very nice._

 

[7:50 am] _Two kids started playing catch with a bagel._

 

[7:52 am] _Got hit with the bagel._

 

[7:53 am] _Thought about looking them square in the eye and taking a bite of the bagel but I don't think they would have found it funny._

 

[7:55 am] _I gave it right back. I sure hope they don't plan on eating that._

 

[7:59am] _I hope I'm not bothering you._

 

[8:05 am] _Boarding soon._

 

[8:08 am] _I don't mind flying but the seats are always too small._

 

[8:10 am] _Boarding now._

 

[8:11 am] _I'll text when I land._

 

[8:12 am] _I miss you._

 

Stensland smiled the whole way through at the funny, carefully crafted, grammatically correct messages, as though Clyde had really sat there and put thought into every word. He also felt a little stab of guilt and regret at not having seen these sooner. They could have been texting this whole time.

 

Oh well. Nothing to be done about it now except to text back so Clyde would have something when he landed. He reread Clyde's messages three more times then typed a response.

 

[9:32am] _Was it a caramel macchiato? I wish you'd taken a bite of that bagel and I wish I'd been there to see it. I wish I could have sat there and sipped coffee with you and watched strangers. I wish I was next to you on that flight with all our long limbs crammed into the seats. Do they still give peanuts on flights? I'm sorry I didn't text back sooner I was finishing off my tub of pistachio ice cream. Thank you for texting me. Text when you land please._

 

He hit send and then stared at Clyde's last message for a moment. He took a deep breath.

 

[9:33 am] _I miss you too._

 

Stensland curled back up on the couch, only this time he was smiling. He kept his phone in one hand so that this time he'd be ready the moment Clyde texted and with the other hand he fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt.

 

Maybe this could work after all.

 

*

 

The living room at Mellie’s place was silent except for the whir of the ceiling fan on its highest setting and the distant buzz of someone a few houses away mowing their lawn.

 

Jimmy and Mellie sat across from Clyde just...staring at him. Clyde shifted awkwardly and resisted the urge to check his phone. He wished they’d stop staring and say something, already.

 

“So…” Jimmy finally broke the silence. “...what you're tellin’ me is...on your vacation...you stayed with some guy you met in a coffee shop, you spent half the time watching TV with him, you went on a _date_ , and now…”

 

“And now we're in a long distance relationship,” Clyde finished matter-of-factly. “And he’s not just some guy. His name is Stensland and he - “ Clyde clamped his mouth shut. He could feel a blush creeping down his neck and he couldn't quite bring himself to meet his siblings’ eyes.

 

Jimmy opened his mouth to say more when Mellie swatted his leg and turned to look at him.

 

“Why's it matter? We did say he ought to be more spontaneous.”

 

“This isn't really what I imagined, Mel.”

 

“I'm sittin’ right here, you know,” Clyde chimed in. He was more amused than annoyed, though. It was hard to be annoyed when it was their suggestion that he take a trip somewhere that led to him meeting Stensland.

 

“Sorry, Clyde.” Mellie turned her attention back to him. “I happen to be happy you met someone. It's about time.” She managed to say it in a way that sounded kind.

 

Jimmy sighed slowly and nodded. He reached across the table to clap Clyde on the shoulder “Me too. So when do we get to meet this guy?”

 

Clyde deflated a little and Mellie swatted Jimmy again.

 

“ _What?_ I’m just askin’!”

 

“‘dunno,” Clyde answered sullenly. “Soon I hope.”

 

As if on cue, just then Clyde’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out quick as lightning, swiping the screen. He all but forgot Jimmy and Mellie sitting across from him as the text message popped up, a picture of a teddy bear on a store shelf. It had dark fur and was wearing a red plaid shirt and the caption read _reminds me of you ♡._

 

Clyde’s mouth spread into an ear-to-ear grin; he felt the tingle of a flush across his cheeks up to the tips of his ears, and he quickly typed out: _It’s lonely. It needs a boyfriend_.

 

He stared at his phone, waiting, until barely a minute later another image loaded and he started to laugh. Stensland had placed a stuffed tabby cat next to the bear with its mouth against the bear’s cheek as though giving it a kiss. The caption read _they didn’t have a ginger bear_.

 

He typed back a response and then looked up from his phone to find Jimmy and Mellie staring at him again.

 

“What?” he tried to sound defensive but it was hard when he was still smiling.

 

But they weren’t teasing. Mellie was _beaming_ and even Jimmy had a little smirk on his face.

 

“That’s some souvenir you’ve got there,” Jimmy said and Clyde’s face heated more than it already was.

 

“We’re real happy for you, Clyde,” Mellie added quickly. Then she glanced at the time and quickly stood, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Now come on you two, if we miss Sadie’s pageant she’s gonna have all our heads.” She was already halfway to the door by the time she finished the sentence.

 

Jimmy and Clyde jumped to their feet and hurried to keep up.

 

“Hey Jimmy?” Clyde asked as he shut the door behind them. From the driveway they heard Mellie rev the engine.

 

“Yeah, Clyde?”

 

“D’you know where I could buy a record player?”


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!! I had most of it written and planned out and then life got busy and then I kept thinking of things to add, so...anyway. I did it though!!
> 
> Here's just a little bonus fluffy reunion chapter~ As a thank you for all your kind words and support. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
>  
> 
> *

Clyde reached up to smooth down his hair for what must have been the tenth time in ten minutes.

 

Before his hand even touched it, Mellie swatted at his arm.

 

“Quit that! You look just fine. I haven't seen you this dressed up since Mama's funeral.”

 

Clyde frowned at her over the bouquet of flowers he held in his prosthetic - blue hydrangeas and white daisies. “You're comparin’ this to a funeral?”

 

It was true he may have been a little overdressed, for him, anyway. He wore the nicest button-up he owned, dark blue with little designs etched into the white buttons. It was in nearly new condition when he dug it out from the back of his closet and had only required a bit of ironing. The slacks and shoes were new, bought in a panic when he realized the ones he had - unused since said funeral - no longer fit.

 

He washed up thoroughly and combed his hair neatly and even used a little product in it, courtesy of Mellie, which made it fall in soft, shiny waves like he’d never seen before. Jimmy helped him find the flowers - dating Sylvia apparently made him an expert in romantic matters, or so he thought - and even offered a tie for him to wear, but Clyde thought that might be overdoing it.

 

“You know that's not what I meant,” Mellie insisted. Her face softened a little and she squeezed his arm. “I just don't want you gettin’ yourself all worked up over this. It's gonna be just fine.”

 

“She's right,” Jimmy chimed in. “Just relax.”

 

Clyde sighed and tried to take their words to heart. They meant well, but they'd never had a long-distance lover like he did, and so they couldn't understand the pressure he was under, seeing him for the first time in four months like this.

 

It had taken nearly all of those four months for Clyde to work up the nerve to ask Stensland to visit. He even offered to buy the plane ticket, feeling a little pang of guilt when he lied and said he could afford it because he was saving up tips. When he finally did ask one evening over the phone, Stensland sighed with relief and confessed that he wanted to ask to visit for weeks but couldn't work up the nerve, and that he was so glad Clyde was so brave, which made Clyde's face go all warm. It seemed Stensland could do that to him without even being there in person. He could say things that tugged every one of Clyde's heart strings and he didn't even have to try.

 

Which was part of why…

 

Clyde cleared his throat and turned to his siblings.

 

“I appreciate the ride here and back very much,” he assured them, “even if Mellie drives like she's in the Indy 500.” Mellie didn't look even a little ashamed. “But if you two don't mind...that is, would you be alright with...waitin’ back at the car for us?”

 

Mellie’s eyebrows nearly went through the roof and Jimmy folded his arms and cocked his head to the side and Clyde regretted everything leading up to this moment because they were never going to let him live it down, not ever, that he wanted privacy to greet his boyfriend at the airport…

 

But he stood his ground. He _never_ stood his ground, at least not when it came to Jimmy and Mellie, as evidenced by the trouble they always got him into, but this time he _needed_ this. Just this one thing, just this once…

 

“Well. You heard him,” Jimmy finally said with a shrug. He nodded his head towards the exit. “C’mon, Mel.”

 

Clyde’s eyes widened. He couldn't believe his luck. He _didn't_ believe his luck. There had to be some catch here.

 

Mellie watched Clyde a moment longer, their eyes locked, before a strange, un-Mellie-like look crossed her face and she broke eye contact to look up at the arrivals board.

 

“Right on time.” She stepped forward quickly and smoothed down the front of Clyde’s shirt a little, the way - the way his mama had the day he went to his first school dance, and something was suddenly stuck in Clyde’s throat or something because he couldn’t speak, could barely swallow around it. “That city boy’s very lucky. I hope he knows that,” Mellie added quietly, then turned to follow Jimmy before Clyde could put together a response.

 

Clyde took a steadying breath and turned to glance up at the arrivals. Sure enough, the plane in from Seattle had just landed.

 

A fresh wave of nerves swept through Clyde and he took a few more deep breaths, feeling almost dizzy. He was pretty sure he wasn’t even this nervous leaving for his first tour of duty, though he supposed he was younger and stupider then.

 

People began to trickle out from the gate and Clyde’s gaze flicked over them one by one in search of a familiar head of red hair.

 

He still wasn’t even one-hundred percent sure what to _do_ when he finally saw Stensland. They talked about it - or, Stensland had, and Clyde listened. At first Stensland proposed a grand, movie-like reunion, with him running into Clyde’s arms and people cheering and so on and so forth, but the longer he talked, the more he convinced himself it was a terrible idea and said it would probably be best if they just hugged like regular people.

 

The crowd grew, and with every person who wasn’t Stensland, Clyde grew more and more anxious. What if he wasn’t even on the flight? What if he changed his mind, what if he wasn’t coming, what if he - what if -

 

 _There_.

 

There, there, there. Everything about him was unmistakable from the long limbs to the way he walked to that hair. He was wearing sandals and cargo shorts and a blue shirt with some design on it that Clyde couldn’t make out from this far away. He was chewing his bottom lip and carrying a worn duffel bag.

 

Stensland’s gaze swept over the crowd, but more people had begun to swarm around where Clyde stood, greeting their own loved ones or heading toward baggage claim. When Stensland didn’t see Clyde right away his face fell. His long strides slowed and then stopped and he began to look like a frightened little animal trapped on a rock in a relentless river of people flowing around him.

 

Clyde stepped forward. His hands were shaking but he raised the prosthetic one and gave a little wave, hoping it would catch Stensland’s attention. He clutched the bouquet tightly in the other.

 

When that didn’t work he took a few more steps forward. And then, then Stensland saw him, and his face lit up again, looking the way it was _supposed to_ , bright and happy.

 

And then he was moving right towards Clyde, nearly tripping over himself in the process, and Clyde surged forward too, because if Stensland _did_ fall he wanted to be there to catch him. That and he couldn’t stand every inch of distance between them, not after four months of long, long miles.

 

At some point the duffel bag was tossed aside and Stensland’s arms were reaching for him and before Clyde knew it they were flung around his neck and _he_ was the one stumbling, nearly falling on his ass before he steadied himself. His arms curled tightly around Stensland’s middle, the bouquet still grasped in Clyde’s hand smushed against his side. Clyde didn’t care, he didn’t care about one damn thing except that _his boyfriend_ was here, right here in his arms and not on the other side of the country.

 

Clyde closed his eyes and buried his face in Stensland’s shoulder, letting himself be blissfully overwhelmed by the fabric softener smell of his shirt and the floral scent of his shampoo and the lean but solid body against his.

 

Stensland’s arms were like iron bars around him, clinging on with everything he had. He had similarly nuzzled into Clyde’s shoulder and Clyde could swear he heard a sniffle. He was mumbling something Clyde couldn’t quite make out, until he pulled his head up a little -

 

“ - and I just, I just _missed you so much_ , I can’t - I can’t believe I’m _here_ , I can’t believe _you’re_ here…”

 

“‘Course I’m here,” Clyde said. He remembered Stensland’s crestfallen face a moment ago. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

 

“I - I may have worried, a little. A lot. A little! I just…”

 

“I would never do that to you,” Clyde said, enunciating each word as clearly as he could so there was no mistaking it. He squeezed a little tighter; he felt Stensland do the same.

 

“Is this a dress shirt you’re wearing? Let me see, I - “

 

Stensland began to unwind his arms from around Clyde and lift his head from his shoulder when suddenly his breath caught. Clyde felt Stensland wiggle a little against him and look down. Clyde looked down too and that was when he saw it.

 

Stensland’s feet were dangling a good two or three inches off the ground. In his rush to Clyde it seemed Stensland had quite literally thrown himself at him, and in his eagerness to embrace him Clyde had just lifted him right up.

 

“ _Well_ ,” Stensland breathed, “it seems I got my rom-com reunion after all.”

 

Grinning, Clyde carefully lowered Stensland to the ground. By then the crowd had dissipated, leaving them a little more space to step back and look at each other. Their hands didn't go far though; Clyde reached his up to smooth down Stensland's mussed hair while Stensland slid his down to Clyde's chest. They both began to speak at the same time.

 

“You got a haircut - “

 

“What a nice shirt - “

 

They both stopped, blinked at each other and then laughed, the last of the tension shattering away. Clyde took a deep breath then darted forward to peck Stensland's forehead.

 

“It's real good to see you,” he said quietly.

 

When he pulled back again Stensland had an impressive flush across his cheeks. As Clyde reached one hand up to cup his face he realized he was still holding the mostly-still-intact bouquet. He nearly forgot all about it.

 

Clyde cleared his throat and handed them to him. “These - these are the kind you like, right?”

 

“You remembered!”

 

Stensland snatched them eagerly and clutched them to his chest the way he had the sunflower months ago. He was beaming as he buried his face in them and breathed in deep.

 

“They're perfect,” he whispered into the flowers. “I wish I had something for you…”

 

“You're enough,” Clyde blurted out. Stensland lifted his face from the hydrangeas to blink up at him. Clyde's face heated. “I mean. You don't need to bring anything. You brought you. That's...all I wanted.” The last words were mumbled so quietly Clyde was sure Stensland would have missed them if he hadn't been leaning close, hanging on his every word.

 

When Clyde was finished Stensland let out a shaky breath.

 

“Me too. It's - I - I missed you. _So much_ ,” Stensland stuttered out. “Every night I wished you were there watching movies with me and eating takeout…”

 

“Me too,” Clyde replied quietly. His eyes flickered over Stensland’s face; he didn’t want to stop with that single kiss, he wanted to kiss all over that face, maybe even try for a better _actual_ kiss than his botched one months ago at the airport.

 

And then the obvious hit him like a ton of bricks. He could do that. He could do _all_ of that and more. He’d spent half the time leading up to this day cleaning and re-cleaning his house and the other half fretting over what he would do or say when they reunited that he forgot the most important, most amazing thing in all this: they had a whole week together, to do... _anything_.

 

He cupped Stensland’s face and leaned in. This time Stensland was ready for it, tilting his head up expectantly. Their lips met and...and it was quick and uncertain, and both their lips were dry, but it was _perfect_.

 

As Clyde pulled back and opened his eyes he felt fingers bury themselves into his hair. He blinked a few times and met Stensland’s bright eyes, only inches from his. Stensland drew his hand through Clyde’s hair once before plunging it back in again and cupping his head.

 

“It’s decided. My hands aren’t leaving this hair for the remainder of the week,” he announced a little breathlessly and Clyde found himself starting to smile without having to force it. He’d almost forgotten how nice that felt. He leaned his head into Stensland’s hand.

 

“You can keep your hands wherever you like,” he mumbled. Within seconds the implication of his words caught up with him and a flush began to spread across his cheeks. “I-I mean - “

 

Stensland’s face went as red as Clyde’s felt. “ _Wherever_?” He asked, voice gone all high and strained. Clyde nodded.

 

Stensland’s gaze panned slowly down Clyde’s body in a way that made chills run up his spine in spite of how warm he suddenly felt all over.

 

“We should probably - “ he began.

 

“ - go?” Stensland finished for him, his face so open and hopeful.

 

Clyde nodded and grabbed Stensland's hand with his - with the flesh and blood one, because he needed to feel the warmth of it in his own, needed to _feel_ the way Stensland laced their fingers together and squeezed. He slung Stensland’s duffel bag over his other shoulder and they started to make their way out of the airport, hand-in-hand.

 

“So,” Stensland began while they walked, “have you thought at all about what I texted you last week?”

 

Clyde thought for a moment. “About nicknames?” he guessed. Stensland had seemed very concerned with what they would call each other when they were together in person again.

 

“That’s the one.”

 

“I have,” Clyde said slowly, “but I’m not sure I came up with anything good.”

 

“But it’s a start! Hit me. What have you got?”

 

Clyde blushed and focused his gaze ahead so he wouldn’t get all flustered and bump into somebody.

 

“Well...this guy at the bar calls his wife _puddin’_...”

 

Stensland’s breath hitched a little. “That’s _too cute_. That - you may be onto something there, though. With the - the food thing.”

 

When he glanced over, Clyde was relieved to see that Stensland was blushing too. At least he wasn’t the only one. And it gave him an idea, one which before Stensland he would never have tried in a million years, but now he felt so light hearted, so good inside and out. Smiling mischievously, he tipped his chin up like he was considering something very important.

 

“Well you _are_ awful sweet,” he said. “How about...cupcake?” The flush on Stensland’s cheek deepened. He peered over at Clyde, eyes wide. “My peach? My slice of pecan pie?” The tips of Stensland’s ears were pink and he was biting down on his lip to suppress a smile. Clyde leaned in closer, voice low and teasing. “My cup’a sweet iced tea?”

 

That one did it. Stensland hid his bright red face against Clyde’s arm. “You stop that!” He was laughing and Clyde had to laugh too. “This is unfair, I like _all_ of those and you can’t use _any_ of them because if you do with that - that smile of yours, I’m just going to melt on the spot…”

 

Clyde kissed the top of Stensland’s head. “All the more reason to use them.” He laughed again when Stensland swatted at his chest. “But I was thinking just... _darlin’_. How’s that?”

 

“That’s...acceptable.” From the way he smiled, Clyde figured it was more than acceptable.

 

“What about me?” Clyde asked after a moment, after Stensland had regained a bit of his composure.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do I get a nickname?”

 

Stensland moved both his hands to grip around Clyde’s arm, slightly possessive in a way that made Clyde’s heart flutter. “I came up with a lot. Some are probably...not appropriate outside the - the bedroom, let’s say.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. It’s simple but I think I like _baby_ for you. Though after the ones you just named, maybe I’ll have to revisit _teddy bear_ and _sweet lips_ …”

 

Laughing, they stepped outside to a beautiful day, out into the parking lot where Jimmy and Mellie waited at the car. One step closer to home, where they could finally be alone together.

 

Stensland’s hand slipped back into his. Their eyes met and Stensland’s smile was brighter than the sun and…

  
And Clyde Logan had never felt so _lucky_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL AGAIN SO MUCH for reading this little fic. >_< It was something new and I had a lot of fun writing it! <3

**Author's Note:**

> ( [tumblr](http://obsessions-and-dreams.tumblr.com/) )


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